


Dresden Files Kinkmeme Fills

by LuciaZephyr



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: AU, Chatting & Messaging, Compilation, Kink Meme, M/M, Muteness, Secretaries, one shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-18
Updated: 2011-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-19 13:10:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuciaZephyr/pseuds/LuciaZephyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catty secretaries, truth spells, #OccultChicago, how to accidentally before a Wyldfae lord, and other tales both silly and serious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Civisking (or, the one where Harry accidentally becomes a Wyldfae lord)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Original Prompt:** Hundreds of Wyldfae in Chicago work for Harry in an emergency and many are sworn to his home guard. The Wyldfae decide to Choose, not for Summer or Winter, but for Harry and make him Wyldfae King. Harry receives Power along with the status and meets Baron Marcone, Mab and Titania on even footing for the first time. What does this meeting look like?
> 
>  **ETA 21 April 2012:** Now [a LEGITIMATELY AWESOME PODFIC](http://amplificathon.dreamwidth.org/1873722.html) by lily_wordsmith. 8D 8D 8D

It was all kind of an accident.

I worked as the Winter Knight for a while and used the power given to me for my own work as well as the tasks Mab lined up for me. With the mantle upon me mixed with my own reputation for being unable to turn away those in need, I became the sort of person people came to with their problems.

Not just people. Creatures of the Nevernever who didn't have a Court to go to for help sought me out. Apparently the Knight Dresden was said to be as kind as he was tall, and I am pretty tall. Being a liason of the Winter Court gave me more respect for the lesser Fae, who just wanted to follow their nature. They were the working Joes of the Nevernever, and I could relate to that.

It snuck up on me. I always offered aid where I could. A few months into my tenure, I got a tip from Toot-toot about some other pixies who'd been captured in a circle by a warlock and left there, trapped. I went, had a few words with the mage, and released the faeries. No big deal.

So a few took to following me around afterward. Nothing to worry about. They stayed out of the way and sometimes warned me of nearby dangers. I got used to a few tiny pixies circling me or napping in my robes and hair, little warm motes of light.

Maeve once caught me at an Accords meeting talking to them and gave me a venomous, inhumanely pissed look I didn't understand. But I rarely understood Maeve's moods anyway.

Toot-toot got bigger. I traveled in a cloud of sparkling pixies. Mouse made friends with some Winter Hounds that I found would come when I called. Some trolls living under one of Chicago's drawbridges left town just because I asked.

I had dinner in the Erlking's hall and he laughed in a rumbling basso, warning me, "You upset balances, little Knight."

Then, a year into my Knighthood, I was fighting a hoard of demons alongside Kincaid and Ivy, and I called on Toot-toot. He brought the cavalry, a platoon of Wyldfae who I protected or helped at some point, and we vanquished evil and saved the day. Business as usual.

Ivy gave me a long, unreadable look afterward. "They are not of Winter."

"No," I confirmed. "Just some friends of mine."

She tilted her head and stared at me. "I see. Be careful, Knight."

That year, the winter was mild, moreso than any Chicago winter I could recall. I thought it was just my new icy imperviousness, but by January we still hadn't gotten any snow.

I didn't connect it to my actions. Why would I?

Like I said. It was all kind of an accident.

 

"You're _firing_ me?!"

My Queen tapped her icicle nails against the frozen throne she sat upon. "I am releasing you from your servitude. I have selected a new Knight."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Why? What'd your game, Mab?"

She shook her head. "Knight, you excelled in your work. A Queen could not hope for a stronger, more valiant champion. Perhaps too valiant, though."

"I don't get it. You hounded me for _years_. Now you don't want me?"

"You wield your power too well. Every task I give you, you accomplish. And yet, you fight on, taking many broken birds under your wing. You garner loyalty. The precarious balance between ice and fire teeters."

The last time the balance was threatened, I had to stop a war between Summer and Winter in the Chicago in the clouds. Yikes.

"So... I can go?"

Mab smiled, then ripped the power of Winter from my magic, and threw me out of Faerie.

I lay on the shore of Lake Michigan, weak and soaked through, feeling the cold for the first time in a year, reeling. There was a huge gap in my spirit where cruel ice had been. I couldn't get my head together in its sudden absence.

I shivered and curled up, coughing weakly as I got myself together. Around me, my entourage of pixies swirled, humming unhappily.

"Hey," I croaked. "I'm not the Knight anymore, guys. You can go."

They didn't though. Many glowed brighter and floated down to lay over my skin, radiating heat and keeping me warm.

Curious thing about the Fae. If you take something from them, they expect payment. And the opposite is true; if they take something from you, they need to repay you. But I never asked for any gifts from the Wyldfae I helped. With no other way to even their debt, they gave me their favor.

I lost my mantle, but I hadn't lost them. Their favor was not with the Winter Knight but with me, Harry Dresden, somewhat short-sighted wizard.

 

I sat in the kitchen of a Knight of the Cross, drinking tea and breaking apart a shortbread cookie into tiny pieces. I took the pieces and put them in my hand, holding them out for the faeries to snag and munch on.

Murphy watched me curiously. "So they just... hang out with you."

I shrugged. "I'm used to it. Must be leftover Winter mojo. A lot of them I saved from one monster or another. I guess they figure they're safer around me."

She smirked. "Harry Dresden, big ol' faerie."

"Ha ha," I said sardonically, not really thinking anything of it.

It took another run-in with Ivy for me to really pay attention to what was going on. She was in town for an Accords meeting and asked me to cover for Kincaid as he was busy on another job.

Ivy looked me up and down and nodded. "As I expected."

"What's that, kid?"

She waved to the pixies following me. A few had grown since they first began nesting in me like I was some overgrown tree. If you leaned close, you could see the light motes on my shoulders and head had vague humanoid shapes, a bunch of little people relaxing amid my clothes. It was hardly the weirdest thing to happen in my life, so I didn't worry about it.

Ivy, though, said, "You have a connection to the unaffiliated fae. No wonder the balance between the Courts began to tip. You're growing too powerful."

I laughed. "It's just a few pixies, Ivy."

She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "We'll see."

 

Weird things began to happen. I caught frisbee with Mouse in the park and a few Hounds leaped out of the Nevernever to play along. I woke up some mornings to little bundles of rare herbs tied with ribbon on my kitchen table, great potion ingredients. I stopped having to invite Toot-toot over my threshold for him to enter my house (he was huge, nearing three foot). When I needed help on cases or Warden investigations, one of my pixies always knew someone who knew someone who knew someone who could totally help out. More Fae got referred to me, and not just pixies. Beings that weren't lesser Fae, but were by no means Sidhe.

I helped when I could. A lot of things ended up living in my tiny brownstone. Some former Summer Fae tended to the windowbox and kept my fireplace going. The refugee Winter Fae made sure my icebox never defrosted and kept my place spotless. I started to like having my little group of Wyldfae around, supporting me in my day to day.

"It is quite unusual," Marcone pointed out during one of our more civil conversations. One of my pixies was investigating him, floating around his body and flashing whenever she found a weapon. She flashed a lot before flying up and sitting on Marcone's nose.

Marcone's eyes crossed to look at the purple light resting on him and I chuckled at the sight. "Yeah, but kind of neat, right?"

"I have attended soirees of the Unseelie Court. Many Sidhe experience this. But I've never seen it happen to a human, I must say."

I tipped a grin at him. "Jealous they don't like you best, John?"

"No," he replied coolly. "You look like you're being stalked by lightning bugs. It's ridiculous."

"Jeeeealous," I sing-songed at him, getting an eye-roll from the Baron.

 

When Mab and Titania got into a slapfight, I was the last to know it. I heard from my _hairdresser_ weeks later.

Thomas had closed the shop for the night and shed the French gay charade to give me a trim. He'd actually gotten pretty good over time and set to making me look less like a shaggy dog.

"It was a big part of the last Accords meeting," he told me. "How did you miss that?"

I shrugged, and Thomas bapped my upside the head for moving. "I'm not best friends with any of the Signatories and I don't have to sit in anymore."

Thomas sighed and waved a few pixies away. "Guys, out of the way or I'll break out the cold iron," he told them.

"Hey!" I turned to glare at him. At the same time, I pulled open a fold of my new duster and my pixies rushed in to hid amid the leather. "Don't threaten them, they're just curious."

Thomas gave me the weirdest look, jaw dropping a little. "Okaaaay. Question, Harry."

"Shoot."

"Seeing as you're kind of the guardian of the Wyldfae now, how the hell did you _not_ know about the brouhaha in Faerie?"

That was a very good question.

I found Toot-toot in my kitchen, eating a slice of pizza and watching some elves and goblins play... Hell's bells, it looked like they were playing _Arcanos_ , rolling d20s and talking excitedly in low voices.

"Toot-toot," I said, walking over to lean on the counter where he was perched.

"Watching game, Lord."

"Yeah, since when did you guys do that?"

"Peaseblossom and Elidee saw you play this wondrous game with the hound-humans." He got to the cheesy crust of the pizza and folded it in half before shoving the whole lot in his mouth. He was tall enough to look like a giant Troll doll, but that just meant he was learning to call the pizza place himself. I'd be fine with it if Toot also understood human currency and the concept of paying the poor confused delivery guys.

"Hey, you heard about the throwdown with Summer and Winter a few weeks back?" Toot-toot bobbed his head yes, still watching the game. "Well, what happened there? I thought you'd get called to pick a side in major conflicts?"

"We did Choose, Lord."

"Did I miss that? Because as I remember it, while this was all going down, you were with me and Molly. Helping the Changelings get free of that Sidhe bitch?"

Again, Toot nodded. I growled. "Don't make me ask three times. Or take your pizza away."

He snapped to attention. "Za Lord, we Choose Harry Dresden, Lord."

I blinked. "Come again?"

Toot shrugged. "Many Fae would Choose you over the Queens of Ice and Fire."

"I..." I looked around. Fae were all over the place, lounging around, making dinner for the household in the kitchen, telling stories around the fire, a few cobbs mending a tear in my jeans-- Stars and stones, _when had this happened_? "Okay, I get that I let you guys stay here, but this isn't like a Court or anything."

Toot gave me a long, hard look. Then got up, put the pizza down (holy crap), and tore a hole between this world and the Nevernever.

I followed him through, and found myself in an open glade that had been turned into a Fae campsite of some kind. Fires burned, surrounded by _big_ Fae, talking and laughing in booming voices. A few orges were stacking stone and wood together, building a little house as pixies flew around, instructing them. In a nearby pool, some kelpies swam laps, singing burbling songs.

One of the house-building orges dropped the boulder he was carrying and waved to me.

I looked around. "Empty night, I'm in trouble."

 

I called the only lawyer-type guy I knew who had a working knowledge of the supernatural.

"Want me to owe you a favor?"

"Oh, always, Mr. Dresden," Marcone purred over the line. "What do you need?"

"Can you come over to my place? I need some legal consultation."

Marcone stepped into my brownstone and was visibly taken aback by the crowded state of my home. "You've become a den mother for the Fae."

"I have more in the Nevernever," I told him. "What the hell do I do with this?"

He arched an eyebrow at me. "I assume your rigid morals prevent you from making some sort of profit on them?"

"I thought they were just a bunch of pizza-eating freeloaders. Now I'm... they call me Lord and help me out on the job and check this out," I went over to the windowbox and placed my hand on a spare bit of soil. _"Floris, floris auctus."_

I lifted my hand and a bottle blue forget-me-not pushed out of the dirt as we watched. I pointed at it. "I could not do that a month ago."

Marcone looked around, taking it all in. "You're a Sidhe lord."

"I'm a mortal wizard, scumbag."

He waved a hand. "I don't mean-- you have all the trappings of such a being. You have Fae allied to you and your power is growing due to their belief in you. You are as close to Sidhe as a human could be."

I boggled a bit. Just rescuing a few lost pixies had lead to this? "What should I do?"

"There is hardly precedence for this, Mr. Dresden." He smiled slightly. "I would advise you to cultivate this. You may not become so powerful a being as the Erlking, but there is no doubt you are on that path. Perhaps have your faeries swear fealty to you, something concrete."

I grimaced. "No thanks. If they want to... do all this, okay, but I'm not going to force them into anything. If they want to leave, they can leave."

Marcone sighed. "Such an opportunity is wasted on you."

"Knew you were jealous." A thought occurred to me. "You're not going to come at me now, are you?"

"Unlikely. If they are not sworn to you, I cannot take them by right of conquest. Simply stay out of my way and don't hurt my city."

"Tell the truth, John, you've always wanted to be a Faerie Queen. Like how little girls all want a pony. It sets your maiden heart aflutter."

Marcone chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, your majesty," he said sarcastically, "I have other things to attend to."

"Yeah, I figured. Thanks."

"Don't thank me. You owe me a favor now, Harry." He went to the door, then stopped. "One last piece of advice for you: read up on the Accords."

"I'm not a part of them."

"Not yet," he corrected, and left.

 

The annoying thing about Marcone was that he tended to be right.

A fomor sorcerer apparently heard about my little den of Wyldfae and wanted that nexus of power for his own.

I lost several good Fae that day. _My_ Fae. An ogre died shielding me from a blast of water magic that would have killed me if it connected, and I kind of lost it, breaking out a spell I didn't normally toss around. Starts with _p_ , ends with _yrofuego_.

I'd been upset.

I called up Marcone afterward and said, "Want another favor?"

Marcone, Ivy, and Donar Vadderung were my co-signatories, making it legal for me to add myself as a Free-holding Lord. Marcone already had claim to Chicago itself as his domain, but _generously_ decreed that me and my followers could stay in his city. So, three favors. Great. Judging by Marcone's pleased grin, he knew it too.

Once it was all nice and official, I went to explain things to my subjects (stars, that was weird). I gathered everyone in the calm, homey scrap of Nevernever that existed on the flip-side of my house. They had a miniature village going there. It was so goddamn weird.

One troll picked me up and set me on one of the houses so I could see everyone. "Okay, so. Um." I waved. A bunch of Fae waved back. _Weird._ "I've signed onto the Unseelie Accords. I'm Baronet, apparently. But just call me Harry or whatever you want."

There was a resounding cheer across the crowd.

"This bit of Nevernever is ours, but Chicago still belongs to Marcone. We're guests and I owe him for this, so if he asks something of you and you want to help, go for it. Unless it's drugs or murder or something--" I shook my head. "Use your judgement. Do... warm things when you can, that's all I ask. If you want this to be home, that's fine by me. You can leave whenever you like. You can bring more Fae in too if you have friends in the other Courts. You're all welcome, so long as you play nicely. I'm a signatory now, so if you do bad-- _cold_ things, I have to answer for you. So don't, all right?"

I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly. "That's all, I think."

It was by no means a good speech, but I hadn't exactly practiced, had I?

 

So I sat at my first Accords meeting between Marcone and Ivy, watching Mab glare icy daggers at me across the table. Titania had shown up as well, and looked equally pissed at me. I guess their people were jumping ship to me. So long as things were balanced, I didn't mind.

Ivy started giggling quietly as Elidee and some of my pixie entourage made friendly with her, pulling her blonde hair back, weaving it into a delicate French braid. I felt Marcone lean over to watch, looking fondly at the Archive, as he always did. I nudged him and gave him a private look, which he returned with a faint smile. The Baron of Chicago, secretly a big kid-loving softie.

"Baronet Dresden, have you anything to add to the record?"

I jumped and looked around. "Um... What?"

"Tithing regulations," Marcone whispered helpfully.

"Oh. I don't do tithing, so no opinion." Everyone murmured at my answer, surprise flitting through the room.

"You are a singular man, Baronet," Marcone whispered to me.

"Don't I know it."


	2. #OccultChicago (or, the one where everyone hangs out on IRC and gossips about Harry and trades supernatural tips)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Original Prompt:** there are plenty of people in the Dresdenverse who can use computers. Maybe they all have an #OccultChicago chat room where they swap tips and warnings and gossip about Harry's latest escapades. ispeakmartian bitches about the false reports she has to write for SI. polkaneverdies squicks everyone with details from his autopsies. faux_frenchie asks for ideas about romantic evenings that don't involve physical contact. hungrylikethe's always asking for help on his college homework.
> 
> And everyone assumes @manwithnoname is a mod-bot since he never, ever speaks, but it's actually Marcone, observing silently.
> 
> OR SOMETHING. GOSSIPY CHATROOM HIJINX, BASICALLY.

`   
***** Topic in #OccultChicago is 'WARNING: Red Court meeting held in McKinley Park, avoid until further notice.'**   
`

`*** ispeakmartian has joined #OccultChicago**  
 **[ispeakmartian]** oh great. I'll send some plainclothes out to keep an eye on things.  
 **[polkaneverdies]** anyone wonder how the chat bot always knows these things...?  
 **[hungrylikethe]** Maybe it's programmed to follow police reports?  
 **[ispeakmartian]** this is the first I'm hearing of the RC thing, so doubtful. I'll ask Harry next time I see him.  
 **[faux_frenchie]** when you do, tell him he needs a haircut. he looks like a hobo.  
 **[hungrylikethe]** again.  
 **[faux_frenchie]** I get he doesn't own mirrors, but jesus  
 **[polkaneverdies]** you two haven't gotten back together yet?  
 **[faux_frenchie]** no. and seriously, butters, he's not gay. I was kidding.  
 **[polkaneverdies]** hey, it's not an all or nothing thing. I get he likes women too.  
 **[hungrylikethe]** wait wait back it up. Harry's gay now?  
 **[faux_frenchie]** he is NOT gay  
 **[polkaneverdies]** more like a Kinsey 3 or 4, I bet  
 **[faux_frenchie]** don't listen to butters, he's confused. Harry's straight.  
 **[hungrylikethe]** it's not like it'd be news if he were bi.  
 **[hungrylikethe]** his eyes wander  
 **[hungrylikethe]** a lot  
 **[hungrylikethe]** I don't mind. kind of flattering.  
 **[ispeakmartian]** so Harry's gay now? shit I shouldn't have got the julie newmar photo. insensitive much?  
 **[faux_frenchie]** HE IS NOT  
 **[faux_frenchie]** dammit butters when I tell Harry he's going to kick your ass`

`   
***** @manwithnoname changes topic to 'UPDATE: Dresden spotted headed towards McKinley with Michael Carpenter. Avoid location at all costs.'**   
`

`**[ispeakmartian]** whoa  
 **[faux_frenchie]** shit, I gotta go. they might need backup.  
 **[hungrylikethe]** careful. this is Harry after all. maybe vampire hunting is his idea of a good date?  
 **[faux_frenchie]** i cannot listen to this`

`   
**** faux_frenchie has quit (goddammit gotta save the idiot)**   
`

`**[ispeakmartian]** now butters has me wondering about the chatbot  
 **[hungrylikethe]** shhhhh you might anger it  
 **[hungrylikethe]** anger not the chatbot for it is good and helps up not be vamp-ified  
 **[polkaneverdies]** hahaha it's just a bot, Billy  
 **[@manwithnoname]** "Just" a bot? I might decide to take offense to that, Mr. Butters.  
 **[ispeakmartian]** !!!  
 **[hungrylikethe]** homg  
 **[polkaneverdies]** ldskjhgkjdg`

`   
***** Topic in #OccultChicago is 'PROTIP: UV lights will NOT work against Red or Black Court vampires.'**   
`

`*** ispeakmartian has joined #OccultChicago**  
 **[faux_frenchie]** I've heard of them, I've just never used them.  
 **[polkaneverdies]** well they're probably your best bet. just make sure she doesn't have a latex allergy  
 **[polkaneverdies]** if she does, I can probably order you some latex-free dental dams  
 **[faux_frenchie]** and that'll let me... you know?  
 **[polkaneverdies]** as far as I hear, yes. don't have practical experience, myself.  
 **[ispeakmartian]** what's going on?  
 **[hungrylikethe]** the *least sexy* sex discussion ever.  
 **[faux_frenchie]** fuck off, fleabag  
 **[polkaneverdies]** it's kind of romantic, trying to make it work despite the whole allergy thing  
 **[ispeakmartian]** allergy?  
 **[hungrylikethe]** thomas and his girlfriend are supernatually allergic to each other  
 **[ispeakmartian]** ... that sucks.  
 **[faux_frenchie]** you have NO IDEA  
 **[ispeakmartian]** it worries me how not strange I find that.  
 **[ispeakmartian]** but I'm sitting here trying to write up a report for the department that doesn't have the words "and then the house's entire third floor vanished because it was a Faerie illusion that didn't really exist" in it  
 **[ispeakmartian]** so there's that  
 **[hungrylikethe]** homework question: who was cartesianism named for?  
 **[@manwithnoname]** René Descartes.  
 *** polkaneverdies gasps.**  
 **[hungrylikethe]** uh thanks chatbot  
 **[faux_frenchie]** it's not a bot, guys.  
 **[faux_frenchie]** we just don't know who it is  
 **[polkaneverdies]** i dunno, maybe it is a bot. it's set up exactly like one and every PM I send it bounces back.  
 **[polkaneverdies]** maybe it's just a ridiculously well-coded bot?  
 **[polkaneverdies]** or maybe it's some magical internet-based being.  
 **[ispeakmartian]** magical internet based being, really?  
 **[polkaneverdies]** Yeah, like in American Gods?`

`   
***** @manwithnoname changes topic to 'Chatbot sees all. Chatbot loves you. Love the chatbot.'**   
`

`**[faux_frenchie]** great now it's taunting us  
 **[faux_frenchie]** I should hire some techies to figure out who @manwithnoname is.`

`   
***** @manwithnoname sets mode: +m faux_frenchie (Ten minute time-out, Mr. Raith.)**   
`

`**[ispeakmartian]** wow`

`   
***** @manwithnoname changes topic to 'All shall love me and despair.'**   
`

`**[hungrylikethe]** oh great, the chatbot is going skynet on us  
 **[polkaneverdies]** Number One Rule of #OccultChicago: Don't upset the chatbot?  
 **[@manwithnoname]** Correct, Mr. Butters.  
 **[ispeakmartian]** you're a scary sonovabitch, chatbot  
 **[@manwithnoname]** Thank you, Lt. Murphy.  
 **[@manwithnoname]** Might I suggest a solution to your report-writing troubles?  
 **[@manwithnoname]** Assuming the building in question is the one in Wrigleyville, simply gloss over the missing floor by including the attic as one of the floors. Only a very careful eye will spot the deception.  
 **[ispeakmartian]** who ARE you?  
 **[polkaneverdies]** and is your username a song reference or a movie reference?  
 **[@manwithnoname]** Movie. You're thinking of "Horse With No Name," Mr. Butters.  
 **[polkaneverdies]** oh, right! my mistake.  
 **[hungrylikethe]** this chat is so weird.`

`   
***** Topic in #OccultChicago is 'WARNING: Wyldfae curse causing widespread hallucinations. Contact Harry Dresden or Karrin Murphy if you experience vision irregularities.'**   
`

`*** polkaneverdies has entered #OccultChicago**  
 **[polkaneverdies]** no one else in here?  
 **[polkaneverdies]** dammit, I really wanted to  
 **[polkaneverdies]** guess it doesn't matter. everyone's busy with the mindwhammy I bet.  
 *** polkaneverdies sighs.**  
 **[polkaneverdies]** sometimes I really want to move out of Chicago, you know? things seem to be getting worse.  
 **[polkaneverdies]** it seems kind of helpless at times. so few people know that anything's even going on.  
 **[polkaneverdies]** I mean, the us against the world thing is fun in the movies, but when you're living it?  
 **[polkaneverdies]** doesn't help that I'm as vanilla as they come. I mean, if life was a movie, I'd be the geeky audience surrogate that gets killed off to make it seem like things just got serious.  
 **[polkaneverdies]** its so hopeless  
 **[polkaneverdies]** we have Murphy and Harry and Thomas and the Carpenters. if you add it all up, it's got to be ten or twenty white hats, tops. twenty people out of however may Chicagoans there are  
 **[@manwithnoname]** 2.9 million.  
 **[polkaneverdies]** lsjdgfjksdhgn STOP THAT  
 **[polkaneverdies]** do you EVER sleep?  
 **[@manwithnoname]** 2.9 million people who have no idea the dangers around them. Who have no protection against the supernatural. Who have no idea even inviting someone into their home could spell their doom.  
 **[@manwithnoname]** These people are not haunted every night by the thoughts of monsters and faeries and demons. We are.  
 **[@manwithnoname]** We fight the darkness so we may live in the light.  
 **[@manwithnoname]** It is a noble thing. Do not despair over it.  
 **[@manwithnoname]** Also, it is 6:15 in the morning and you work the night shift. For God's sake, go to bed.  
 **[polkaneverdies]** Thanks, chatbot.`

`   
***** polkaneverdies was kicked from #OccultChicago by @manwithnoname (I wasn't kidding. Go to sleep.)**   
`

`**[@manwithnoname]** And then, there are those who fight the darkness who will never see the light.  
 **[raudr]** He who fights monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.`

`   
***** raudr was kicked from #OccultChicago by @manwithnoname (I told you, enough with the fucking Nietzsche, I *get it* already.)**   
`


	3. the crust of the meaning (or, the one where Harry loses his voice and copes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Original Prompt:** Dresden/Marcone. Harry can't speak (ducttape/curse/injury) but Marcone knows him so well, that he can almost read his mind (correctly interpret gestures/guess).

I hated to admit it because it was so cliche, but I think I liked Dresden's company more when he was mute.

Not only was it cliche, but it was pretty callous of me. I didn't know what happened to Dresden to make his baritone go quiet. He obviously couldn't say, and hadn't been forthcoming with his little legal pad when I asked. Either it was some magic thing that was too difficult to explain without his voice or he wasn't in a sharing mood. Either was likely; getting answers out of Dresden was sometimes like pulling teeth.

I only found out when SI needed a consult. It was on the down-low, as the CPD was still watching us to make sure we were spending any city money on charlatans like the only wizard in the phone book. We emptied out the "coffee fund" everyone added to for cases like this and got Dresden on the scene.

The change in him was immediately noticeable. In his day to day, he was always somewhat.... withdrawn. Not shy, but definitely not friendly. He didn't meet people's eyes and never quite stood up straight. If he hadn't been on a first-name basis with half of SI, he'd run into serious trouble with us. But he was, so he didn't.

But today, he was even more withdrawn. He hunched into his duster, even though it wasn't that cold yet in Chicago. His eyes darted around, wider than normal. He looked nervous. He didn't have his staff with him, though I saw his fingers peppered with more silver rings than he usually wore.

He nodded hello to me and listened attentively as I filled him in on the case. Breaking and entering, no sign of forced entry. Windows closed and latched, door shut with a deadbolt and chain that had been undisturbed. No clear points of entry, yet the victim had reported all their grandmother's jewelry had been stolen.

Dresden walked around the apartment, obviously looking for something though I couldn't tell what. Eventually, he stopped, stared hard at a blank space between the living room and the kitchenette. He reached out, felt the air, then nodded to himself.

Walking back to me, he dug a yellow legal pad out of his coat and started writing something.

"What's the verdict?" I asked him.

He held up one finger. _Wait._ He continued writing.

I realized that he hadn't just been quiet since walking onto the scene. He hadn't said a single word. Not a joke, not a hello, not a bit of Latin.

After a moment, he ripped the paper out of his pad and handed it to me. I glanced at it, scanning.

 _portal from nevernever over by kitchen area, air is weaker there. likely fae, but openly stealing things and entering w/o permission strange. check victim's background, find out who grandmother was. possible changeling? come by if you find anything weird._

I folded the paper and tucked it into my pocket. "Okay, thanks. Now you want to tell me what's going on? The day of silence thing is in April."

Dresden frowned at me, tilting his head to the side. It was more demonstrative than I was used to with him. He still remained silent.

"Dresden," I said slowly. "What's going on?"

He sighed, and... it had no sound. That was strange. It was a noiseless exhalation. I didn't know someone could even do that.

Dresden started writing again, this time handing the pad to me when he was done. I looked at it.

 _curse dispellment gone wrong. can't talk. it'll go away on its own. don't tell anybody._

Everything made sense. His rather paranoid awareness of everything around him, his distant manner, the fact he didn't have that ridiculous staff with him. I schooled my face into a plain expression and nodded. "Of course. Let me know if you need anything?"

He smiled wanly, looking grateful that I didn't say anything out loud. He took his legal pad back and furiously scribbled out the message he wrote me. It was dangerous for him, I assumed, to not be able to speak. His magic seemed tied into the incantations he used. I wondered if he could even use magic at the moment.

I squashed the desire to have a cop follow him home to make sure he got there okay. He didn't ask, and I knew getting him to accept help was even harder than getting him to talk about his world.

I put it out of my mind and went back to work, following the lead he gave me and trying not to think about how much more efficient Dresden was when he couldn't talk.

+++

The kid's work took us all over the world. Everyone wanted a piece of her, and never in a nice, neat order. One mortal in China would want a consult, then the Council with ask for her to play impartial judge for the latest political clusterfuck in South America, and after we'd hop over to Norway for an Accords meeting in Yggdrasil. I got most of my pay from beating the hell out of anything that attacked us as we traveled the Ways, using the Nevernever to skip from place to place.

I never liked hanging around one place for too long, so that suited me fine. And the kid, she was happy as long as her prismacolor markers didn't run out before she was finished with her latest masterpiece.

Chicago, though. It was never just in and out with that human stronghold. We always had to drop in on the Baron and have an ironic tea party, with the kid and the Baron making small talk as they dodged talking about the torture they struggled through together at the hands of those fucking Denarians. Being in the Baron's latest headquarters was always a load off; I didn't know how he got his defenses working so smoothly, but the man had definitely learned from his kidnapping. I knew demi-gods who'd balk at the wards he'd weaved together.

We were having scones and hot tea with Baron Marcone when it happened. Ivy was cheerfully talking about having visited the Foo dog litter at the monasteries last week, eyes bright with joy. Kid needed a pet. As soon as we got a little time to settle, I was planning on getting her one. But mid-sentence, she stopped, eyes growing distant.

Marcone and I both snapped to attention. "Ms. Ivy, is something the matter?" the Baron asked, voice low.

Ivy didn't answer. Her brow furrowed. New information, I assumed. Something important.

The moment passed and Ivy stood. "I apologize, Baron Marcone, but Mr. Kincaid and I must take our leave."

Marcone rose as well. "Urgent business, I assume."

"Yes. A friend... might require help." She looked out the window at the city skyline Marcone's office overlooked. Ivy shook her head. "I'm not sure what I can legally offer, but..."

Marcone nodded. "I see. Please, let me know if I can be of any assistance." He shook her hand, then mine. "Ms. Ivy. Mr. Kincaid."

Ivy curtsied. "Thank you for your hospitality, Baron Marcone." Skipping the rest of the pleasantries, she turned and marched out of his office. I jogged to catch up with her.

"Where's the fire, kid?"

"Harry's in trouble," she said, tone obviously worried.

 

Dresden was just climbing out of his piece of shit eyesore of a car when we caught up with him. The wizard was on edge, whirling on us with his fist extended, silver rings flashing in the light. As soon as he caught sight of Ivy, he dropped his hand, looking sheepish. I would too, if I'd just threatened the Archive with just a few stored-force rings.

He waved at us as we got close. His mouth formed the word _hello_ , but he didn't say it.

Or he couldn't. Damn, when Dresden got into trouble, he didn't do it by halves.

"Warden Dresden," the kid said formally. "May we have a moment of your time?"

Dresden nodded and let us inside his little subterranean den. Ivy bade the hound hello and sat down on Dresden's sofa with the cat on her lap. Dresden got me a beer and Ivy a soda before sitting down. He fidgeted then gestured with a twirl of his hand. _Go on._

"You've lost your voice," Ivy stated. The wizard nodded. "I believe you mentioned something about a dispellment gone wrong?" Another nod. "May I see?"

He shrugged and got up, went to sit by the kid. She tipped his head back and touched his neck lightly, her fingertips running along like she was reading Braille. Her inspection only lasted a moment before she sat back again. Her hands clasped tightly in her lap, an unhappy set to her face. "It's the remnants of a curse from a sidhe of the Unseelie Court."

Dresden reached around her shoulders and gave her a brief, one-armed hug.

I knew what that meant. She probably could fix his voice easily, but the issue was political. The Winter Court was part of the Accords. Hell, they started the damn thing. Interfering directly with a spell put on Dresden would be asking for trouble and making the Archive's loyalties transparent. All three of us knew that. The kid didn't have to like it though.

"I could try to--" Dresden cut her off with a stern headshake. He smiled at her warmly. "All right. If you're sure."

There wasn't much else to do. Dresden was magically mute, so it wasn't like we could chitchat. Ivy indulged in cat petting for a little longer before announcing that we had to be going.

"I'll drop by next time I'm in Chicago, Warden Dresden," she told him formally, then hugged him. He returned the gesture, looking a little surprised.

I lingered in the doorway a moment. Ivy really liked this guy and he was pretty useless right now. "You need anything, give me a call. We can negotiate a payment later."

He arched an eyebrow at me and mimed holding a phone to his ear.

I rolled my eyes. "I have caller ID, Dresden. If it's a Chicago number and dead air, I'll drop by."

He laughed silently and clapped me on the shoulder in thanks. He waved to Ivy, then shut his door.

We waited until his wards went back up before leaving. We were behind schedule, but that was Chicago for you.

+++

 

There was something wrong with Mr. Dresden.

Dresden had plenty of issues on his own. His disdain for authority, his recklessness, his inability to accept the smallest piece of aid, his quick temper. I had grown used to dealing with him over the years and knew when I invited the White Council's Wardens into my safehouse that I would be spending much of my patience on Dresden. He was incapable of being in the same room as me without trying to provoke a reaction out of me with snide remarks and banter. I almost looked forward to our verbal sparring matches. It was refreshing to speak with someone so frank and fearless when your day to day was filled with restrained, subservient dialogue. Other than Mr. Hendricks and Ms. Gard, people did not speak back to me.

But all those habits and reliable traits I'd come to expect from the wizard were... gone. He moved with caution, watched the room warily, and tried his best to disappear in the darker corners, letting his fellow Warden look over the plans and comment on the operation at hand.

It was so entirely out of character for Dresden, I found it extremely distracting. As Warden Ramirez was briefed by Gard, I had to fight to stop glancing sideways at the corner Dresden was lurking in. He caught me looking more than once, but did nothing about it. He'd just twist his head away in... shame? Fear? These were emotions I was not used to seeing on his face; they were almost completely unfamiliar to me.

"What makes you so sure they're Reds?" Ramirez asked, bringing me out of my musings.

"Women in the area have been disappearing for a week now. The ones who leave show signs of enthrallment. Many more are still missing."

"Could be the Whites. You've got the Raith House here. We're in a peace with them. Council won't risk accidentally causing a--"

Dresden walked forward and tapped Ramirez on his shoulder. The younger Warden stopped and watched Dresden point to something on one of the autopsy photos.

Ramirez hummed. "I see, yes. Whites don't nibble on their thralls, you're right."

I cleared my throat, and Dresden's head snapped up to look at me, eyes wide and dark. "I hate to pry, but perhaps Mr. Dresden could explain his unusually taciturn nature this evening."

Dresden snorted and rolled his eyes heavily. But he didn't speak. Ramirez looked between us, then whispered something to Dresden. Dresden lowered his eyes to the ground, returning to that withdrawn, quiet state he'd been in since he walked in. Ramirez blew out a breath. "Okay, look, Harry's dealing with a... medical-magical issue. That's why I'm here. I'll be leading your team, not him."

I made a show of crossing my arms and redistributing my weight back on my heels. "I've had experience working with Mr. Dresden in the past. I would prefer his services."

Harry glared at me, face flushed slightly at the apples of his cheeks. Yes, definitely something like shame.

Ramirez shrugged. "Baron, if you want Warden help on this, you're going to be working with me. That's just how it is. I may be young, but I can kick as much Red Court ass as this old man here." He jerked his head to Dresden, who rolled his eyes again.

"Be that as it may."

Dresden waved his hand sharply in the air once, drawing our attention. Once he had it, he took a pen off the table and wrote on the corner of one of the printouts.

 _I'll vouch for him. he's a showboat, but he's good for this. and he's your only option, so take it or leave it._

I lifted my gaze to meet Dresden's. "And should I trust you, Mr. Dresden?"

His mouth twisted and he looked away. His lips parted, soundless, and for half a second he looked so honestly frustrated, angry-- but he covered it just as quickly, the expression gone fast enough I wasn't entirely certain I'd seen it. He met my eyes again and nodded once.

I could have fought more on this topic. Perhaps I should have. But something about Dresden in this state, so unsettled and lost, quieted my protests. "All right, Mr. Ramirez. The infiltration team will be waiting for you, then. Ms. Gard will accompany you and act in my stead for the operation.

Ramirez said more before letting Gard show him out, but my attention was again captured by Dresden, who had sulked off to his corner again, looking positively despondent.

I'm quite used to crushing the waves of empathy and compassion that do not fit my position. This time, though, it was a real effort to do so. Such was the power of an over-tall beanpole of a wizard who looked like he was in desperate need of a hug. Christ.

+++

All I wanted to do was go home and stay there until this blew over.

The past week of being cursed had been... rough. Really rough. With a faerie curse making it impossible to make even the softest noise, I was continuously in danger. Words worked as a layer of vital protection between the spell and the caster. Letting a torrent of fire fly against an enemy, as I would have done any other day of the week, would have been a really bad idea now. I could, but who knew the kind of backlash I'd have to make it through. I didn't make a habit of casting without words. I didn't want to start now. I could've been just as likely to take myself out of the equation as my opponent.

So I had it in my head that I would steer clear of everyone, stick to my apartment, and keep my head down. That had been the plan. But then there was the call from Murphy, the need to pick up food for Mouse and Mister, running out of Coke, and now this call from Marcone.

I was so worked up, so stressed from just trying to keep myself alive until the curse unraveled itself. I'd barely slept, my senses constantly straining to feel my wards when I should have been resting. My eyelids felt like sandpaper every time I blinked. Standing there in Marcone's safehouse, I was just grateful the lights were dim and not agitating my headache.

I was _not_ on my game, which only meant bad things when dealing with Marcone. I may have gotten him to compromise and take Ramirez, but now I was alone with the scumbag and Hendricks.

I stuck to the corner, twisting my silver rings around my fingers, wondering if I'd be able to activate them in time to knock Marcone or Cujo out if either of them made a move against me. It wasn't like it'd be hard for them. I kept shutting my eyes when I just meant to blink, losing track of where they were when I opened my eyes again.

There was nothing good about the situation. It had me on edge, waiting for Marcone to do something besides watch me from across the room. He kept doing that and it was getting creepy. What the hell was he looking at? Was he just plotting a way to take advantage of the useless Warden in his grasp?

Paranoid, me? Nah.

I jerked in surprise when Marcone touched my shoulder, my eyes flying open. I didn't remember shutting them, but my head was leaning against the wall. I think I might've almost fallen asleep standing up. Stars, this was bad.

Marcone, to his credit, back up and gave me room. "Mr. Dresden, please. Why don't you sit? I doubt Warden Ramirez will return for some time."

I glared at him and didn't move. I was _dying_ to explain to him just how thoroughly he could go screw himself, but, well.

My lips pressed together and I looked away again.

Marcone sighed. "Harry, you are under the protection of my hospitality. I am hardly going to move against you."

I gave him an incredulous look. He expected me to buy him following the old hospitality laws? He was a mortal, Signatory or not.

He chuckled. "Perhaps I am, as a human, not bound by the rules of the Old World. But in this case, I am subjecting myself to them anyway. Sit, Mr. Dresden, before you fall down."

That was... eerie. How the hell did he do that? I could read the man pretty well, as expected with anyone I'd soulgazed, but that was nigh-psychic.

Marcone bowed his head slightly. "You have a very expressive face, Harry."

I grit my teeth and felt myself go red. Something about this was so discomforting. And worst part was he could call me Harry and I had no way to tell him off about it.

He hummed contemplatively. "I can only imagine how infuriating it must be, to be in your position. You so often hide behind your bravado, and you ability to speak is directly tied to that." He lifted a wry eyebrow at me. "And I know you must be wanting to insult me and remind me that I'm not allowed to call you Harry."

Okay, maybe I did need to sit down. That was just too much. I pushed roughly past him and went to slump on the sofa.

Marcone left the room, then returned holding two steaming mugs in one hand, a small plate in the other. He sat and put everything on the table: two cups of coffee, black, and sugar, milk, and stirring spoons.

I gave him a look.

"Again, I am not going to poison you, Harry." He picked up one of the mugs and added sugar and a small amount of milk to it. "Perhaps you want me to taste both of them to prove them untampered?"

I suddenly thought of _The Princess Bride_ , Vizzini and the Dread Pirate and snorted. I put a little cream in my coffee but hesitated over the sugar.

Marcone smirked at me over the rim of his coffee mug. "I promise you it's not iocane powder."

I almost dropped my mug, staring at him in shock. Before I could remember how pointless it was, I asked, "How the hell did you know that?"

Of course, no sound came out and I felt like an idiot immediately afterward. I looked away, my face burning.

Next to me, Marcone made a quiet, pitying sound, but otherwise did nothing to bring attention to what I did. And I was so grateful I wanted to scream. But I couldn't do _that_ either. Hell's bells.

And despite that, there was... something. About dealing with Marcone. Part of it was the soulgaze, yeah, because of that we were always going to understand each other on a certain level. But it was also that I didn't like _him_ , but I might've liked dealing with him. Maybe? At his core, Marcone was easy to work with because I could trust him to act in his nature, almost like the Fae. He would always be ferociously territorial. He would always be ruthless without being cruel. He would always be looking for himself and his domain, and would safeguard anyone and anything that counted towards that, which included me.

Those things about him didn't change, even as he grew in power and standing in the supernatural community. He wore his Barony with all the aplomb of any politician that lied and schemed their way into office. He was reliable. I was feeling extra paranoid lately, but even through that I knew Marcone wouldn't rid Chicago of my protection. It wasn't good business.

It was nice. Sitting there, drinking coffee and letting silence hang between us. If I wanted to talk, well, apparently Marcone was _uncanny_ in his ability to read me. It was almost like I wasn't cursed. That was more than I had with anyone else.

After we had another round of coffee, he said in a soft voice, "It's interesting. I don't think I've ever noticed before now how transparent your emotions and thoughts are to whomever cares to look. Normally your bluster masks that very well."

I frowned at him, not sure what to make of that.

He shrugged one shoulder loosely. "Don't look too deeply at that. It's simply an observation."

I didn't know what to say. But, I couldn't say anything even if I did. I sighed and slumped back on the sofa, holding my mug in my lap, staring at the wall. Weird. I finally had someone I could communicate with and I didn't really want to. In a way, I hardly needed to contribute. Marcone was picking up on everything without any prompting from me.

Some time later, Hendricks came in with news. Marcone left with him for a few moments and returned to tell me, "The operation was successful. All the Reds in that building have been killed. Warden Ramirez was injured, but Ms. Gard says he'll be fine. We'll treat him, of course. I have facilities and staff in place for these events."

I nodded. Good. That didn't surprise me at all, that Marcone had measures in place like that.

"I'm grateful to you both for your aid. It could have been done without you, but likely not without some losses of life."

Another nod. It wasn't like Ramirez and I weren't glad to get rid of Reds where we could anyway. Hell, it was why the Warden's put up with me despite the fact I was the black sheep of the entire Council.

Marcone watched me for a second, gaze steady and unblinking. Whatever he saw then, he didn't share. He did take our mugs, lightly tugging mine from where it sat forgotten on my lap. He came back with new mugs, this time not with coffee. "Herbal tea. It promotes restfulness. I'd add sugar, but no cream."

I accepted the tea and did as he suggested. It was good, in some way heavy on my tongue, like the tea had over-steeped. The sugar helped cut the bitterness. It was nice and mellow.

Marcone sat next to me and neither of us spoke. He watched me, but I didn't particularly care. I relaxed into the sofa and drank my tea, letting my mind wander. After the last few days, I was almost out of practice at just sitting and thinking. So much of my energy went into watching my back and keeping safe.

Eventually Hendricks walked past the door and looked to Marcone. Marcone bade him good night, and he left. It was just Marcone and me.

I only realized then that I should have left. I should have left _a while ago_ , back when Marcone told me the operation was a wrap. It hadn't occurred to me. I was enjoying the safety. I liked being quiet not because I was forced to, but because I could.

I blinked and shifted to look at him. He looked back and smiled faintly. "It's all right, Harry. I won't begrudge you some comfort when you need it most."

Oh. Huh. That... was damned decent of him. But inaccurate to the extreme. Comfort? Here? Really? I pointed at him and waved my hand sharply to the side.

Marcone's smile broadened. "I beg to differ. After all, you are still here and seem in no rush to leave."

Comforted by the presence of a mafia boss. Was he joking?

"You can roll your eyes as much as you want. It's plain on your face and in the fact you dozed off for a while there, Harry."

I had _not_.

"I assure you, you did. It's good to know you don't snore."

I flipped him off.

He laughed openly. "Well, that hardly needs deciphering." He sobered. "There's no need to be upset by it. Though..." He turned on the sofa to give me all his attention, his arm stretching out over the back. "Is it that which is bothering you? Or that I can read you so aptly but you cannot read me?" He sipped his tea. "Interesting."

I sighed and made to get up. Marcone reached out, put a hand on my shoulder. He didn't hold me down; I could have shrugged his hand off. But I stilled anyway.

He spread his hands silently, giving me an earnest look. He said nothing. I eyebrowed at him again, unsure of what he wanted.

"Come now, Harry. I've told you before, you can be very observant if given enough time."

I got it then. He was going mute, like me, at his own volition. He sat there, posture open, face as unmasked as he probably ever let it. It was an invitation.

I settled back down and took him up on it. Turnabout was fair play.

The problem wasn't that I couldn't read Marcone. I could. I'd done it in the past on cases, under pressure. I knew some of his tells. That was just the benefit of the soulgaze. Yeah, when he originally tricked me into that, back on the day we met, I'd felt like the privacy of my own mind had been violated. But nowadays, I was glad for it. He and I couldn't have formed our tentative peace and intermittent working relationship if we didn't know each other on that base level.

So the problem wasn't that. The problem was that I knew what I'd get out of him and had all these expectations set up in advance. It was hard to get a read on him when I was anticipating the usual scumbag criminal-ness.

Marcone looked at me patiently, his lips twitching in amusement.

I could do this. I shut my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to just look at him.

What did I see? Forget the mafia lord and baron thing. What did he look like? Hell's bells, I was a PI, this shouldn't be so difficult.

He had that... slouch. The one villains were taught to do in Evil Academy, I assumed. He was twisted towards me on the sofa, one leg bent in front of him, the other hanging off the cushion. His arm was along the seat back, hand near my neck. He looked more friendly than usual, almost inviting. The criminal posturing, that alpha male don't-fuck-with-me, was missing. So he wasn't like that 24-7. Good to know. I always secretly thought being eternally alert and plotting like Marcone seemed to be would be _exhausting_.

He was still watching me. I almost forgot that until he suddenly grinned fiercely. It was such an electric smile, it startled me. When I recoiled, he laughed. I glared at him and he just put his hands up, placating and apologetic.

We both settled and I just... went back to looking at him. I was late and I needed to get going, but this was... like he said, interesting. I propped my head up on my fist and took him in. I had this habit of meeting his eyes whenever we met, maybe because his gaze was one of the few I could meet. When I stopped, though, more stood out. His hair had gotten a little more salty than peppery in the last few years and the lines on his face were more obvious. The ones around his mouth deepened; the crows' feet had faded. I guess he didn't smile much anymore.

But he did now. He actually hadn't stopped since I sat down, sometimes just a quirk of his mouth, sometimes a wider grin. My brow furrowed as I thought about that. I couldn't figure it out, so I mouthed at him, "What?"

He leaned back somewhat and let his eyes go half-lidded, then waved his hand at me. He was relaxed. But so was I.

Huh.

I picked up the tea mug pointedly. If I was mellowing out, it was probably because he'd drugged me or something.

He rolled his eyes at me and shook his head. Then he reached out and put his palm against my chest.

I stiffened at the sudden contact, but otherwise didn't move. He arched his eyebrows at me and tipped his head down to look at the silver rings on one of my hands.

Using one of them on him would definitely get him to back off, but I think part of the point was that I didn't want to.

When I didn't do anything in response, he nodded and sat back again, looking satisfied. Why, because I didn't kill him for touching me? What kind of person did he think I...

Oh. That _was_ interesting. I tried to think about how I'd react any other time to him just touching me like that, not threatening or hurting or anything. Probably not well. Before now, I didn't really do this; I didn't pay attention to his body language and didn't pick up on that silent truce he was projecting at me. When we had to work together under pressure, I fought him as hard as I could just on instinct. Did he do the same? I couldn't remember paying attention enough to tell.

How much of the conversation had I been missing?

I felt very... foolish all of a sudden, and looked away. He made a contemplative noise and I had to look at him again. I caught the patience in his face and felt even more out of my depth.

Marcone gave me a lazy smile and said, "As I said. You are quite observant when given enough time."

Things suddenly weren't as safe as they were two minutes ago. I needed to go before this... _thing_ between us suffocated me. It was already harder to breathe.

Marcone must've seen me hit panic mode. His smile slipped and he leaned back all of a sudden, hands up again. He didn't have to keep doing the silent communication thing, but that didn't stop him.

It annoyed the hell out of me for some reason. I didn't want to keep this up, to have to pay so much attention to his body language and his subtle facial expressions. I narrowed my eyes at him and pointed to my mouth.

He sighed. "I was merely suggesting that you don't need to be upset. And that it's nearing two in the morning and there's really no reason for you to not take full advantage of my hospitality." When I remained skeptical, he added, "Why not make yourself a burden? You do enjoy annoying me, don't you?"

Winding up Marcone was pretty much one of my favorite past times. Getting any reaction out of him was an accomplishment that took more and more effort as time went on and he settled into the supernatural world. And I'd gotten more out of him this evening than I had probably ever. I knew he was letting me see this, that is was a conscious decision on his part. That was something, though I wasn't sure what.

Maybe I was loopy from the late hour and the herbal tea, but I was curious. It was the sort of curious I got when a big complicated case fell in my lap. I just wanted to pick it apart. It made me a good detective, but otherwise was a pretty dangerous habit.

I didn't reply to Marcone in any way. However I did yawn, wide and still silent.

Marcone gave me this _look_ , soft eyed and smiling, and excused himself. He brought more tea and had a blanket and pillow in the crook of his arm. I stared at the linens like they were going to bite me.

"In case you do decide to take advantage," he murmured and set the everything aside before sitting and handing me my mug. I should've gotten up and left, but I ended up curling up on the sofa and drinking deeply. It was _really_ good tea, warming and comforting. It smelled heady and earthy; I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. then again, then

 

then I was warm, warm, too warm and I kicked out. Part of the blanket fell off and I settled, cool air against my front, solid heat against my back, then

 

then Marcone shifted, suddenly displeased with his spot. I elbowed him until he stopped. He huffed a laugh against my neck and lay still, then

 

then it was cold again and I groped around for the blanket. I couldn't find it and started to grumble, but I couldn't make a sound and that made me tense, unhappy. Marcone nosed against my cheek and rolled. I ended up halfway under him and it was warm enough for me to relax back into sleep, then

 

then.

The last thing I ever expected was to see John Marcone sleeping. But there he was, completely out. He had one hand curled around my shoulder, his face close to me, face against the pillow. In sleep, he looked a lot less tortured than I ever imagined. Given how many people he killed and how much crime he perpetuated, he slept surprisingly well.

Granted he was doing it _on top of me_ , but I couldn't really blame him for that. I was the one to lose the damn blanket. He was substituting. Talk about your hospitality.

This was the part where I was supposed to freak out. Punch him, maybe. Slink away before he woke up, definitely. Go home and lick my emotional wounds, pretend this didn't happen.

Because there was something very raw about laying like this. The intimacy of our non-verbal communication had been scary. This was several magnitudes worse, laying with Marcone on me, his legs tangled with mine. Once again, it was hard to breathe.

I wasn't going anywhere though. I didn't want to hit him. I didn't even want to wake him just yet. So I laid back and tried not to think about how stupid this was. It was hard to care about the consequences. I was letting Marcone in, not just physically but... that other thing too, the one that was even more dangerous.

Why?

'Cause he listened, I guess. He had me at a disadvantage and didn't use it against me. He evened the odds, letting himself get as transparent as I was.

Again: why?

He wanted me to see something.

What?

That's what I didn't know.

I sighed silently and moved my hand where it lay on his upper back. In slow circles at first, then letting my fingertips meander, tracing nonsense patterns. I was lulling me back towards sleep.

I probably would have drifted off again, but Marcone lifted his head and found my eyes. I froze, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

It took a minute for me to get out of my deer-in-the-headlights mode, but once I did I wisely jerked my hand away from Marcone.

Marcone had always been freakishly fast, and his hand blurred as he grabbed my wrist and held me still. I stopped breathing, suddenly realizing how completely screwed I was, pinned under Marcone without most of my magic. I could hit him with a ring, but at this range I might kill him.

He drew me back to him. He directed me until my hand curled over his shoulder, my thumb against his neck. Then he let go, moving to hold my shoulder again.

Well. Okay. That was unexpected. I didn't know what to do with that. It was better than a knife under the ribs though, so I couldn't complain.

I swallowed and felt my face get red, flushing hard enough it almost made me dizzy. I really should have left. I turned my head to look at the door. It seemed so far away from here. If I could even get out from under Marcone, I could almost imagine him pouncing before I made it out of the room. Again, he was _fast_.

Marcone turned my head back to him with a firm hold on my chin and then put his mouth against mine.

It took me a full five seconds before I realized he was kissing me. John Marcone. Chicago's Baron. Mafia lord. Kissing me. Warden of the White Council. Wizard who burned his buildings down. Kissing. Lips to lips.

I froze up, so shocked I couldn't even think. I mean. Kissing! John Marcone! What was I supposed to do with that?

He lifted his head, breaking the kiss (kiss! what?) and smiled at me. His eyes were bright with amusement.

"Are you uncomfortable, Mr. Dresden?" he purred at me. I gave a stuttery head shake, then changed my mind and nodded. Marcone chuckled and moved back. He didn't get off me, he just propped himself on his elbows. His weight shifted back, pressing down on me in some, uh. Sensitive areas. He got a surprised look on his face and glanced down. "Oh, really?"

Yes, really. I don't think there's a name for the shade of red I turned. I wanted to snap at him about how it was a morning thing, not something he should take seriously. I couldn't, though.

One upside of being cursed with muteness was I didn't make any embarrassing noises when Marcone gave very calculated, slow rock against me. He made a pleased noise and did it again, again, then just rubbed his hips in this serpentine, smooth motion that worked up some really amazing friction between us. Stars, but the man could _move_.

He dipped down, kissed me, lips wet and tongue flicking out. He had me thoroughly distracted so I might've kissed him back, a little bit. It was only for a moment; he moved away, scraping his teeth over my cheek, nipping my chin, and sliding down my neck, mouthing my skin the whole way. It felt _really nice_ and I tipped my head back. My hands took on a mind of their own and went down to hold his hips, helping with that slow delicious rocking. Mm.

I'd gone crazy. Obviously. I was possibly letting John Marcone have his way with me. That should've been more alarming but. Eh. Whatever. I'd blame my lack of sleep lately and an unforeseen reaction to that tea he gave me. Maybe it interacted weirdly with the Fae magic. It was the only explanation.

That and way his ass curved under my hands. Hell's bells, he was fit.

So besides the fact I was clearly crazy and this was a very bad idea and he was being way too persuasive, it was good.

Marcone lingered different places, using tongue and teeth together to raise marks on my skin. He did keep stopping at odd intervals, I noticed, lifting his head enough to check my face before returning to whatever he was doing.

I frowned at him and put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him away until he met my eyes. I gave him a confused look.

Marcone's smile was fond, his hand brushing my hair out of my eyes almost... affectionate. "Keep in mind you cannot verbally consent, Harry." I blinked at him, confused. He went on, "I will take advantage of a situation. I will not take advantage of a person."

I didn't get it. Why would that matter, that I couldn't 'verbally consent?' I mean, I was getting hard and enjoying everything he was doing. That he felt the need to check on me was weird.

Marcone watched my face and some of the smugness left him. "Christ, Harry," he breathed, shaking his head. "As flattering as it is that saying no is so beyond your comprehension..." He shut his eyes, bowing over me until his forehead rested against mine. I stopped feeling up his ass and held onto his shoulders, squeezing.

He opened his eyes with a new gleam of determination in them. He asked point blank, "I'd like to get you off and see you laid bare for me. May I?"

It was the crassest thing he'd ever said to me, yet still so genteel. The words hit my libido like gasoline thrown on a fire. Marcone took in my reaction, watching hungrily.

"I need a nod, Harry," he said, voice rough like gravel, like the sandpaper slide a cat's tongue. "Something."

I nodded, then reached for him.

Then it was all systems go. He dug his hands under my shirt, pulled it off, kissed a line down my chest. My pants went loose around my hips and I helped push them down, really eager at the prospect of Marcone getting his mouth on me. He slid down the sofa, and I bent my knees to give him room. I was all limbs and gangle, and it took some doing to arrange us right.

I got mashed up against the pillow we'd slept on with Marcone laying on his stomach between my legs. His arms folded under my hips, propping them up somewhat so he could see my face when he stared across my body. He gave my hips a reassuring squeeze and checked once more to make sure I was still okay with this. As if my cock in his face left any doubts.

Marcone-- or John, seeing as I should be on first name terms with anyone giving me a blowjob-- licked broadly up the bottom of my dick. I had two seconds to think it was a shame he didn't have a rough tiger's tongue because that would feel strange but good. Then he was swallowing me down and my only thoughts for a while were _oh fuck yes_.

He was good at it. The sort of good that I thought had to come from experience, and that meant John liked men. I couldn't help but wonder if I was his type, if he'd been wanting to do this. As far as I was concerned, he could take as much advantage as he wanted. I'd welcome the wet heat of his mouth and his tongue working against me anytime. I was _extremely_ grateful to my curse, preventing me from whining pathetically in between breathy gasps. My lips were parted, soundless as John sucked me off. The feeling was electric, and my body jerked every time his teeth scraped lightly against me.

I scrambled for hold on something, but the sofa wasn't big enough. John reached up, grabbed one of my hands, and put it on his neck. I curled my hands there, fingers digging in, trying to hold on.

John sucked softer and harder in turn, playing with intensity and driving me _crazy_. I was begging him to just hurry up and get me off, but to no avail. He couldn't hear me.

He couldn't, but I could. I thought I was imagining it at first, but when I wasn't drowning in the sweet sharp pleasure, I could hear myself breathing hard, panting. I frowned and tried to say his name. It was there, but so whisper soft if was barely, "...hn."

John heard it eventually and his head snapped up, mouth used and red and wet and _jesus_. "Harry?"

Stars, I was so close, why'd he stop _now_? I nodded vehemently and said, "I'm fine, I'm okay." Only about half the syllables were audible. I tucked my fingers in his hair and tugged him downward, hopeful.

John snorted but obligingly took me back in his mouth and finished me off. It was like my brain was coming out my cock, I was so drained and wiped out. I groaned hoarsely, loud enough to just barely be heard.

"Mother of God," John muttered and sat up, jerking himself off fast as he watched me. I was sprawled bonelessly, panting for air, making soft, mewling noises in the wake of orgasm. And he looked me up and down like a starving man presented with a banquet feast. " _Fuck,_ " he swore, teeth grit, and came. The hot splatter across my stomach as it cooled in the open air made me shiver and shut my eyes, trying to swallow a moan.

Wow.

Well, okay then. That was pretty great.

John gave only the most cursory effort to clean us up, mostly just stripping us the rest of the way down, using his nice button-down to wipe away the mess, and laying next to me, skin to skin, the blanket going over us.

His chin tucked onto my shoulder and I smiled at him, silly and languid. "Hey," I said in what would only be charitably called a whisper.

John kissed my neck. "Your voice is returning. Good. As interesting as this has been, I believe I'd grow to miss your brand of juvenile banter."

I rolled my eyes. "Bite me, Marcone."

He did, hard enough it startled a faint laugh out of me. The sound was barely there, but echoed in the warm space we'd created for ourselves out of gesture and silence.


	4. the trick is not to mind that it hurts (or, the one where Harry cannot lie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Original Prompt:** Harry gets hit with a spell compelling him to answer questions truthfully.
> 
> Anon could go so many places with that, but what would blow me away would be the spell making Harry tell John about his massive consent issues, and his history of assault, say things that he's like, "but I don't even think that, I don't feel that way, it wasn't like that," though clearly he does and it was like that. Might work best as established relationship? But I have faith in anon's creative powers.
> 
>  **Trigger Warnings:** Discussion of  rape and abuse, and oblique reference to suicidal tenancies.
> 
>  **ETA:** Now with a [podfic](http://amplificathon.livejournal.com/1416087.html) recorded by LJ user h_lunulata. 8D 8D 8D

The bad thing about being the Winter Knight-- well, okay, there was a lot about it that sucked. If you asked me what the worst part of having the mantle was five times, I'd give you five different answers. I would never say the deal I made with Mab wasn't worth it, because it was, but to say I had regrets would be putting it lightly. There was a lot of ifs. If I had more time, I could have made a deal with someone else. If I'd been stronger, I could have gone without Winter's magic. If the apartment fire hadn't been such a disaster, I wouldn't have paralyzed myself.

If I wasn't the Winter Knight, Lea would _back off_.

"It was a white lie!" I was trudging through Winter's snowy plains, looking for the right Way to get me back to Chicago. "I got the job done."

My Godmother on her horse kept a steady gallop next to me as I huffed through the knee-high snow. I really needed to learn that walk- _above_ -the-snow trick. I'd hoped it'd come naturally with being a part of the Court, but apparently there was a knack to it I was missing. "My sweet, you must know that lying to your Queen is treasonous."

Treasonous? Seriously? I walked faster, wanting out of Faerie _now_. I was tempted to just rip a hole to the mortal world and just jump through. I could hitchhike to Chicago. "She wanted the lesser Fae to obey. I got them to obey."

"Not through alliance to this Court, but with bribery," Lea countered chidingly.

Pizza, the Winter Knight's secret weapon. I was supposed to enforce some of Mab's orders with my power, but I didn't like bullying the lesser Fae. There were a bunch of working joes like me. It would be like betraying my people.

"It got done."

"Not out of loyalty to their Queen, but to you. That upsets power and is dangerous."

I shrugged. "What do you want, Lea?"

"To teach you an important lesson, sweet."

Oh, you better believe that set off alarm bells. When I was purely mortal, I had that protection from the Fae. Most of the time, they could not toy with people that didn't somehow belong to them. Now, I was unequivocally property of the Fae. Most didn't dare screw with me, but Mab? Yeah. And my Godmother? She was practically my handler these days.

I reached out to rip a hole out of Faerie. " _Appar--_ "

Lea made a gesture, like catching a snowflake in mid-air, and my voice vanished just like that. She cupped her hands together, looking into her palms. Stars, maybe she _had_ caught my voice. "Let us see what we can do about that dishonest streak, little Knight." Her thumbs swept into the bowl of her hands and I clutched my throat as a ticklish sensation stirred there. What was she _doing_?

She slid off her mount, hands free, and drifted over the snow to me. She was murmuring into what I assumed was one of my chakra, whichever one it was that handled speech and communication. As she did, I couldn't make myself stop scratching at my neck. Something was going on there and it felt wrong. I didn't have a way to make it stop though. Even if I did, fighting back against Lea would be a bad idea.

After a moment of fiddling, she cupped my chin and nudged her thumb against my lips. "Open," she commanded, and I reluctantly did. She tipped her other hand against my mouth, like she was giving me a drink. I felt some strange ephemeron pour into my mouth and down my throat, like something lighter than water. I drew away, coughing like I'd just swallowed a particularly bubbly drink. My cough had sound to it though, which was a relief.

"What did you do?"

Lea smiled, smoothing my hair tenderly. "Consider it removing a veil. No more hiding truths. Not until you learn."

"Learn what?"

She chuckled and leaned down to kiss my forehead. "That would defeat my purpose." She returned to her mount and swung gracefully up onto it. "And should I hear tale that you are hiding away in your little house, behind your little wards, I will be displeased."

She rode back to Arctic Tor. Not a single flake of snow was disturbed by her travel.

I, on the other hand, forced my way back to Chicago, each step an effort with the weight of whatever charm laid on me pushing down on me.

 

Without Lea's threat, I would have hidden in my house until the charm blew over. I didn't want to deal with whatever game she was playing with me. I didn't even want the specifics of the charm.

But fighting the Leanansidhe, perhaps the most powerful Fae in Winter but the Queens themselves, was not a great idea.

I needed to know what I was up against before adventuring out past my front door. I went to talk to Bob in the basement of my brownstone. Having a basement had been almost _the_ deciding factor of picking out my new place. I just couldn't keep my lab anywhere else. It was habit by now.

"Bob," I called as I pulled on my robe. I didn't actually feel cold much anymore, but it was another habit I retained from Before (as I mentally referred to the time before I took the mantle and was killed). "Wake up, lazybones, I've been charmed and need a consult."

Bob's eyelights blinked on. "Charmed? The sexy kind or-- oh!" His orange light shone on my neck. "Not the sexy kind. Unless you're into magical bondage. I got a few ideas you could try out on your boyfriend."

Yeah, that'd go over well for the half-second it'd take for John to get a knife at my throat. "No. My Godmother is teaching me that lying is naughty. Can you see what's been done?"

"Of course. Nice work. Delicate. She's tied your voice to a deep part of your mind. What you say is going to come directly from there, no trims or frills. You'll probably answer questions faster and with complete honesty."

I groaned. "I got truth-spelled?"

"Yeah. Allow me to demonstrate," he said, then asked very quickly, "You and Murphy, why haven't you two gotten it on yet?"

"Almost did," I answered without hesitation. "She never wanted a relationship with me, but I agreed to a one-night thing as one last hurrah before being the Winter Knight. I got shot before I could go through with it."

I recoiled like someone had slapped me. "Wait, that... something's wrong, that's not true."

"You're alive again. Why not bed her now?"

"Because I didn't want to do it before. I just wanted a comfort after Maggie and the Knight thing. I was going to give up my free will to Mab. After that, bending to Murphy's terms didn't hurt so much." I slapped a hand over my mouth, too late. "That's not--" When Bob's jaw opened again, I nearly flung myself at him. "No! No more! Don't ask me anything else!"

Bob's lights dimmed. "Boss..."

"Something's wrong with the charm. All that, it wasn't true." It wasn't. I wanted to sleep with Murphy. Okay, it was a bit of a last hurrah, but I cared about Murphy. I didn't think of it that way. We were friends who'd been through hell together to save my daughter. I wanted to be with her. If it wasn't in the way I wanted, that was... fine. It was fine.

"I don't know, Harry. Why would--" I glared at Bob and he rephrased. " _I just wonder_ why she would curse you to lie."

I shrugged. "Hey, it could work. She could be showing me that lying causes more trouble than telling the truth, so when the compulsion's gone, I'll be more likely to tell the truth." It made sense to me. I sighed in relief at having figured out Lea's deal.

Bob didn't sound as confident. "I'm looking at the spell working. It doesn't really look like that..."

"But it makes sense. Occam's Razor."

"Occam's Razor doesn't really work on Fae. They don't think like you mortals do."

I knew that from experience. But I didn't _want_ that to be true.

Either way, I couldn't stay cooped up inside. Lea made that clear. Things were going to be... interesting.

 

I should've just stayed home.

Molly was in a good mood that clashed with my stormy disposition. "Hey, boss, what's got you grumpy this time?"

Right off the bat. I couldn't keep my mouth shut. It's like my entire body stopped as words poured out of me, my control only coming back when I was done. "The Leanansidhe's put a curse on me so I can't lie." I shook myself hard. "No, I can't tell the _truth_. That's it."

Molly blinked at me. "Oh. Um. Hold on, I remember this riddle from _Labyrinth_."

I sighed. "Just..." I rubbed my face. "Warding. We're going to work on warding. And you're not going to ask me any questions."

She frowned at me. "If I can't ask questions, how am I going to learn?"

"You're not." I winced. "Okay, you can ask, but... just be careful what you ask." I pulled out a notebook I'd filled with runes and symbols. "Here. Work on copying these, as perfect as you can. It's important to be able to write the ward anchors perfectly before we attempt anything."

So I got Molly working on the paperwork and stole a glass of homemade lemonade from the Carpenters' fridge.

Michael came in, grabbed his own glass, and poured more lemonade. He topped off my glass as well. "Harry." He smiled warmly at me. "How is your Knighthood going?"

Oh crap. "Horribly. I hate it. A lot of time, I don't even feel human anymore. I have dreams about falling into the lake and not coming back, and they're not nightmares."

Michael's jaw dropped. Through the kitchen doorway, I could see Molly's head snap up, a similar expression of shock on her face.

I couldn't do this. Goddamn Lea, I couldn't just say things like that to my friends, to the people who were the closest thing I had to family. I didn't need to think about those dreams. There was too much bubbling under the surface and the most innocent questions brought it all up, like a pot boiling over.

I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. "Dammit." I exhaled. "Dammit." I tore out of the kitchen, grabbing my staff. "Molly, explain-- explain that, I have to leave."

As I headed out the door, I hear Michael call after me, "Where are you going?"

"Winter!" I answered before hoping into the Nevernever.

 

I scorched a circle in the snow around, fueling my fire with my hurt and anger. This was ridiculous. I had told one white lie to my Queen and in return Lea screwed me over like this. How the hell was this an appropriate response? And what the hell was the lesson? If it was to be more honest, Lea had _certainly_ screwed it up royally. Now I was convinced the random lie was for the greater good. Nothing would come out of telling my friends how miserable I was. Nothing would come out of examining the... _thing_ with Murphy, especially not now.

So I brought up my circle around me and called out. "Leanansidhe! Leanansidhe! Leanansidhe! Come forth! The Winter Knight demands audience!"

I broke the circle with a toe and felt my call radiate out into Winter like a ripple.

I don't know if it was because my new rank actually had some leverage or if she'd been waiting for me, but within a few minutes, I heard the hounds to the east. Or to my right, anyway. I didn't know if compass directions had meaning in the Nevernever. Probably not.

I walked to meet her, not having to worry about trudging through the snow because it melted before me. I should've been tapping further into icy Winter magic, but had yet to really feel the urge to. Probably part and parcel of that wishing I hadn't come back from the dead thing. Fire was familiar and reminded me of Before.

Stars, now I knew how Buffy felt. But it shouldn't've mattered. I made the deal with Mab, I'd suck it up and suffer through. No one else made me take up the mantle. It was my burden, not to be undone by a simple, innocent question from a man I trusted.

Lea brought her mount to a stop as I approached. "You summoned me, my sweet Knight?"

I pointed to my neck. "Take it off. Get rid of it. Now."

She threw her head back and laughed. "Such forcefulness! What is the problem?"

"I can't go around answering every fucking question honestly! When someone asks me how my life's going, they don't need the specifics!"

She nodded attentively. "So you need to lie to your loved ones."

"No! It's not lying it's..." I scrubbed my face, looking for the right word. "Not volunteering information. It's knowing when the right time to talk about these things is. And chatting over lemonade in the kitchen is not the right time!"

She reached down and put a hand on my hair, brushing my bangs back, giving me a vaguely maternal look. "My sweet, I am not of your people, but even I know that what you're doing will beget only more suffering." She raked her nails over my scalp and I felt some of my anger pulled away, drawn out of me by her hands. A dull calm replaced it, more glamour than real emotion. "You are not learning the lesson. I do not do this to pain you, but out of concern for you, my Knight. My godson."

"Lea..."

"You are going to be bound to Winter for a long time, child. As things stand, I can see you ripping yourself apart, piece by piece, and denying it every time someone says you're bleeding." She touched her fingers to her lips, then to my forehead. "Go back to your world, little one. I've dispensed all the help I can."

My anger was soothed, swept away by Faerie magic, leaving me feeling empty where it had been. I didn't want to fight her anymore. I just felt like I was hurt, aching deep in my bones.

The cold just made it worse.

I nodded slowly to my Godmother and ripped a hole back to the mortal plane.

 

I left Lea, cut my way out of the Nevernever, and started walking through my city.

My city. I had no idea if it was anymore. Everything on the mortal plane felt different since taking up the mantle. It took so much to ground myself. Granted, Faerie had the same issue. Neither felt _right_.

I wondered if this was what it was like to be a changeling. When in the Nevernever, you longed to be out. When in the world of mortals, you felt like slipping back to the Nevernever. I felt like a pendulum swinging between two extremes, moving too fast, like I was about to fly off into nothingness.

I somehow ended up on the far east side of the city, just a few blocks from the lake shore. This area had parks and the Chicagoan version of broadwalks. I walked aimlessly down them. Or maybe up them. I didn't know if I was going north or south and I didn't bother checking street names to figure it out. I made no attempt to steer myself anywhere. I just put on foot in front of the other.

I was deliberately not paying much attention to my surroundings, but eventually I noticed a dark Mercedes had passed me several times. Once I noticed it, I put it out of my mind again. I knew who it was and it wasn't a threat.

It must have parked somewhere, if only long enough to let out a passenger. Soon, I wasn't walking alone. John Marcone fell into step beside me, hands tucked into the pockets of a worn leather jacket. His clothes were casual, incognito. Just a guy going for a walk.

"Would you like to know how I found you?"

"I don't really care right now," I answered, for once my forced honesty not bothering me much. "What do you want?"

"You've been wandering in a fairly aimless fashion for some time. I simply wanted to check on you. It's not like you."

"Been a rough few days," I muttered sullenly.

John looked sideways at me, assessing. "Would you like some company or am I intruding?"

"No and no." Both were true, which was confusing. I shook my head, frowning. "Sorry, I'm just..."

"Yes, I can see that," he said softly, overtaking me in a few quick steps before turning to face me. I stopped, meeting his gaze. "I was going to ask you to dinner. I imagine it's not a good time." I shrugged. "Is there something I can do?"

"I don't know anymore." I looked away, at the rolling waves of the lake. I should've mentioned the fact I was under a charm to speak truths. But so far, it was working for us. I didn't know if it would continue so if he knew.

The thing with John was new, but... nice. We got along like we hadn't been enemies for the last decade. As Knight, I accompanied Winter's representative to the Accords meetings on a regular basis. Marcone never missed a meeting and I'd never missed the opportunity to needle him after the meetings adjourned. Being Knight put things in perspective, and any time I could steal with the first vanilla mortal Signatory made me feel... calmer. I was too deep in Winter to easily reach out to my friends, but John had thrown himself almost deeper into the supernatural. Suddenly, it was easier to talk to him. He got it in a way Murphy, the Carpenters, they couldn't understand.

One week, I got loaned out to the Baron when a mutual enemy came up. There was life-saving on both our parts, a lot of sniping, and a building fire or two. After, John invited me back to his place to be fed and to recoup.

It kind of... spiraled out from there. In my defense, I'd been tired, run down, lonely, and he was very convincing.

So we had a casual arrangement. I sometimes spent my downtime with him. He showed me a good time and helped me make that spike of Winter in my head seem a little farther away. I always felt Mab's presence in my magic, but John made her voice seem quieter, even if only a little bit.

I made the mistake a few months back of asking what _he_ got out of our little liaisons.

"I know that you must have accepted Mab's deal on the condition of never being ordered to hurt those you care for," he had said. "Being one such person affords me monumental protection."

I'd walked out on him and he chased me down until I slowed down enough so he could tell me that wasn't the _only_ reason, but it was how he justified the terrible risk of letting the Winter Knight into his life. That I could hurt him had only barely occurred to me at the time, but for him, it must have been a constant undertone in everything between us. He let himself be vulnerable with me every time he pulled me into his bed.

I wasn't sure if I'd returned the favor yet. With John Marcone, you could cut him, hurt him, throw him neck-deep into things no mortal should have to handle, and he flourished. But really endanger his life and put his empire at risk? That was something bigger than him. Something he seemed to trust me with.

I didn't know what I had in return. I wasn't sure what vulnerabilities I had left. Want to kill me? Been there, done that. Want to bind me into your service? After Mab, John couldn't be worse. There was a moment, back when I was still hunting for a new home, that John asked me to let him help. I'd laughed him off-- it was just house hunting-- but it took me buying my little fixer-upper brownstone and the flash of disappointment on his face to realize what he'd meant.

As we stood there in the middle of the walkway, he was waiting for me to give him a sign. He had the same expression of tentative hopefulness he'd had when he suggested helping me find a home.

I asked, "Can we... go somewhere? Quiet, away from everyone?"

He nodded slowly. "We could go to my place. Would that work?"

"Yeah." I liked this. His questions didn't dredge up anything I didn't want. With John, it was just simple negotiations. Plus side of dealing with a man you soulgazed with and known for ages.

My charm didn't come out until he got me whisked away to his place. He took my coat to hang up, because he had to be a perfect host at all times, and asked, "Are we ordering in? Would you prefer something in particular?"

Unbidden, I replied, "I'd like you to cook."

"I could likely have something sent it that is superior to anything I could make. Are you sure?"

"Yes. It's not as good, but it's homey. Like you were taught by your mother or something. This is pretty much the only place I get that from, besides Charity."

John turned slowly away from the closet, eyebrows lifted. "Harry..."

I sighed. Nice while it lasted. "I've been... charmed or cursed. I have to answer things truthfully."

I could see that information being carefully processed in John's head. He thought it over slowly and I waited for him to do so. The thing between us had it's unspoken rules of not taking advantage of each other, just the basics to make it work, but this might've been too much for him to benevolently overlook. It was a golden opportunity to mine me for information. I was close to Winter, to the White Council. I knew about necromancy and Denarians. I had holy swords and Lasciel's coin and soulfire. He could force me to tell him my Name or any of the many secrets I kept for myself and others.

I knew that. And I could see him consider each options before setting them aside. He smiled ruefully and shook his head. "I must be a fool."

I let out a relieved breath. I really hadn't been sure how the chips were going to fall there. "Thanks."

He nodded and lead me to the kitchen. I settled in on a bar stool as he took stock, checking cabinets and the fridge. "Do you want to talk about the charm?"

"Yeah." I blinked. That was news to me. "Um."

He gave me a long, appraising look at my hesitation. "You have to speak the truth even if it's not something you recognize as true."

"I guess?" He set a beer in front of me and I helped myself to it. "It's already gotten... awkward." Apparently I'd have preferred death to being Mab's bitch. That was weird to wrap my head around. Weird and a little scary. Should I worry about myself? Seek an intervention? Make sure I don't look longingly at any straight razors? Stars and stones, I didn't know what to do about this.

"I can only imagine. I am assuming this is related to your Knighthood," John said, careful to not make it a question.

"Yeah. I told a little fib to Mab and the Leanansidhe decided to teach me a lesson. And there's an _actual_ lesson too. I haven't figured out what it is yet though." I leaned forward on the kitchen island and watched John chop vegetables with creepy, fast motions. He handled a knife like it was an extension of himself. Unlike with everything else he ever did, he never seemed to think about it.

John chuckled softly. "Your faerie godmother. Has she always gone out of her way to torture you?"

"Since I was sixteen, yes."

The knife thunked against the cutting board, missing the tomato. John twisted to look over his shoulder at me.

I... didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say. I was almost afraid of uttering another word, of what would come out of my mouth yes.

"Harry," John said quietly. "When you were sixteen, that's when your guardian died in that fire. I imagine that was your handiwork..." He set the knife down and leaned on the island next to me, green eyes boring into the top of my head. I refused to meet his gaze, keeping mine down. "Our soulgaze told me as much."

I nodded, eyes on the marble beneath my arms. "Yeah. But that was years ago."

"Such events define us," he said with the certainty of a man who knew what he was talking about. "How..." He seemed to try and stop himself, but couldn't quite manage it. "How was the Leanansidhe involved?"

I tried to stop it. I bit my lips, trying to keep them together, but the charm forced its hand. "I needed to beat Justin. I traded myself to Lea for the power to do it. She took me into the Nevernever and bled me." My hands suddenly curled into fists, tight enough my nails bit into my palms. I wanted it to stop, now. "She d-did things to me. To stake her claim on my life."

I let out a harsh breath, like the words had been punched out of me. Why was I so rattled?

John wasn't done. He just asked, "Things?"

"She blinded me with the blood loss and the glamours and she r--" _No. No, no._ I slammed a fist onto the table, putting all my will and focus on my words. The lights overhead started flickering wildly. _Don't say it--_ "Sh-she took me when I was took weak to fight back," I spat out and the icy cold of the compulsion loosened its hold of my voice. I sagged with sudden staggering exhaustion, hunched over the island, gasping for air.

"Harry--"

"No!" I forced my head up to look at John. "Don't you fucking dare, don't _ask_ me anything!"

The lights in the kitchen went out. Great.

The kitchen, lacking windows, was pitch dark after I blew out the lights. The ambient noise of the ceiling fan, the fridge, it was gone. For a moment, I just listened to my own hard breathing, grateful for the loss of sight and sound. It was a balm to all the turbulent emotions I had coursing through me.

Speaking of...

What the _hell_ was that?

I took a shaky breath. "I don't... I don't know why I said that. It wasn't... I made a deal with her. I don't even remember much of what happened, not really." Just her lips like frozen raspberries against my chest as I hung there by my arms. The chill of the air around me and way some of my blood didn't fall into her bowls but ran down my arms, sticky hot along my skin. That was all.

Except now that I thought about it, recalled what happened for the first time in years, I could remembering limply twitching away from the rake of her claw-like nails and how cold her hands were even as heat stirred in my body. Her kissing me, and how I couldn't kiss back because I was so dazzled by the glamour. How she licked her lips like she was savoring me and called me "sweet." How...

I jumped at the light when John struck a match and set it to a candle he'd dug out of somewhere. It was a dim glow in the darkness, illuminating only a few feet around us.

I looked up at John, unsure.

He stared back at me, face tight and somehow pained. "What're you thinking, Harry?"

"Your eyes look like a forest fire in this candlelight," I murmured. Huh. They did, kind of, the way yellow and orange caught in his pupil, circled by that cool green. I hadn't noticed before. Or, I _thought_ I hadn't noticed.

John was still watching me avidly. I could see him working away at something in his head. Whatever it was, he was turning it over slowly, thoroughly, and didn't say anything for a while.

He nodded to himself, then said very precisely. "Your godmother took advantage of you. Have you or have you not been hurt similarly by anyone else?"

"I have." I had? I had no idea. "No, it's not like that. I-I don't think of it like that, John."

He didn't eyebrow at me or smirk or anything. His gaze on my face was starting to feel too intense. I looked away, at the candle. "It would appear you do."

"What Lea did... If she did anything, it was part of the ritual she performed on me. I gave her my life. I knew what I was getting into."

I saw him grimace out of the corner of my eye, mouth turning down into a deeply displeased frown. "And that means it shouldn't matter?"

"I don't know."

"You can't possibly think that. Harry. _Harry._ " His hand curled around my head, fingers twining in my hair and pulling me so I'd look at him. "Who else hurt you?"

"Justin. Bianca, her Court. Lash when she was Shelia. Mab." I shuddered as the compulsion drew more out of me.

"And what did they do to--"

I fell forward, trying to get my hands over his mouth to muffle him. I was suddenly frantic, just wanting it all to go away. The candle tipped over as I got to John, one hand over his mouth, the other planted against the island so I could lean over to him. "Stop. Just _stop_." My voice cracked a little.

John pulled my hand away, face quietly furious and vengeful. "Have you ever told anyone?"

"No," I snapped. "How could I? It's not the sort of thing you just bring up in conversation!" I tried to yank my wrist out of his grip, movements jerky and not exactly coordinated. "I _burned_ Justin for what he did to me and the goddamn Council tried to behead me for it! Why would I say anything after that?!" John's eyes widened and I succeeded in getting loose from him. I stood and leaned on his chair, half-snarling at him. The anger just poured out of me before I could stop it. "He was a father to me and he invaded my mind and they-- they still look at me like I'm some kind of timebomb!"

John put his hand over mine, trying to make me release what was probably a bruising grip on his shoulder. "Harry, calm down."

"And who should I have told about Lash? If Michael-- he'd _kill_ me if he found out she was in my head, screwing with me! And it's kind of difficult to talk about being passed around by Bianca's people. It's not exactly something you can just _casually mention_." I was dimly aware of the fact I was shaking, shaking hard enough John reached out and grabbed my arm like he was worried I'd fall. "And Mab-- fuck, by now what does it _matter_? Anyone else wants a piece of me, they can have Justin's sloppy thirteenths!"

"Harry!" John grabbed my face with both hands, pulling me. I overbalanced and fell against him, nearly in his lap. "Harry, stop!"

I did. I went silent just like that. No compulsion.

I didn't know when Lea's charm stopped and I kept going.

"Oh fuck," I whispered. My eyes stung and I shut them tight. "Oh Christ, I... I didn't..."

John put his arms around me and lowered me down. He moved with me and we both ended up on the tile floor. His legs folded under him and I lay against him, my head on his chest. It wasn't fair, to lean on him like that after I... After I did whatever I just did. Freaked out, to put it mildly.

I got my arms under me and pushed to sit up. John's arms around my chest tightened, holding me still, and he made some nonsense noise at me, soothing me.

He was always doing that. Offering me help and comforts beyond what I expected out of a not-quite-friend-with-benefits.

Winter already owned me. Indulging in what the Baron-Lord was offering could not make my life any more difficult. He couldn't hurt me anymore than anyone else had.

I put my head back down and shut my eyes.

 

Later, we both sat on the sofa in one of the sitting rooms. John was watching me as I leaned tiredly against the seat back with my legs bent in front of me. I felt oddly... young. I would've thought being confronted with all the terrible things that I'd lived though would make me feel ancient, but the effect was the opposite. For the first time in years, I thought about my father, about that easy comfort of having someone who cared about to give you support when you needed it most.

I lifted my head to look over my knees at John.

He inclined his head at me. "I'm sorry for forcing you to talk about it."

I shook my head. "At the end, it wasn't you doing it, it was me."

"Still." He put his hand on my ankle, thumb rubbing slow circles over my skin. He made no attempt to move closer, and for the moment I was really thankful for that. I felt too... unbalanced for that. "If it would make things easier for you, I would have myself charmed like you've been. To even the playing field."

I snorted shallowly. "Yeah, okay."

"I would."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "It would help you."

"Again. Why?" John was possibly the most powerful vanilla mortal in the world. Giving up his ability to lie, letting himself be compelled to tell the truth and then some, it didn't make sense. It was so dangerous.

He just smiled in a soft, secretive way. I wanted to ask what the hell was going on, but he spoke first. "If you require someone to... speak to, I know a few people." At my blank look, he sighed and elaborated: "Therapists, Harry. I have the names of a few clued-in individuals who provide their services to my people."

A shrink? Seriously? The idea was kind of a joke. How could I talk to someone who was listening for cash? Someone I didn't even know, I couldn't trust them. No, if I was going to talk to someone...

I looked at John and thought about it. The truth charm had dragged up a lot of things I had no idea what to do with. It was all too big, like finding that garden Lea planted on the flipside of my old apartment. I didn't exactly know how I felt. How do you go your whole life not knowing about-- or, I guess, flat-out ignoring-- such a massive part of yourself and then deal with it? When you lied to yourself that long...

Oh hell's bells, was that it? Was that my lesson?

I had a way to be sure.

"Hey." I poked John with my foot. "Ask me what the lesson was."

"What was the lesson?"

I sighed, and felt Lea's magic take my voice. "Lying to others is bad enough on its own, but lying to myself is worse. I've been tearing myself apart and at this rate, I'm going to be the shortest-lived Winter Knight ever." I thought about that and nodded. It made sense. Lea cared about me as much as a faerie could and didn't want me to let myself die. And that... that might've been the path I was on right now.

At least now I knew it. That was a start, and the start was the hardest part.

I met John's gaze, calmer if not quite all right. I thought I could get to 'all right' though. With time. "Ask me if I want to talk about..." I waved a hand, encompassing all the crap I'd been through.

John's smile was sad, but his hand was still warm on my skin. "Do you want to talk about what happened to you?"

The answer wasn't immediate, the compulsion working more slowly. "Yeah." I swallowed. "Not right now though?"

"All right. In your own time." His fingers ran higher under my pant leg, sweeping up and down my calf.

I unbent my legs and scooted down the sofa, closer to him. "I think Lea's spell is breaking. Do you want to ask me anything else?"

John's pupils dilated just like that, his lips parting with a startled inhale. The offer hit him deep. "Why would..." He stopped and revised, cutting out the question. "You'd let me do that."

I nodded. "Yeah. I mean, you already dealt with me breaking down all over you. And you, you'd really take an honesty spell if you could?"

"Yes." He shifted to turn towards me, one arm sliding along the back of the sofa and around my shoulders. "A trade, then. I'll ask something of you and you in return can ask anything of me and I'll endeavor to answer as truthfully as I can."

That sounded too good to be true. It was heady and foolish and I wouldn't have agreed to it if all the honesty so far hadn't rubbed me raw and left me wanting something in return. "Okay."

John's fingers danced along my hairline, tracing curves and patterns into my skin. His eyes on me were rapt, unwavering. "I've wondered for some time... You're quite accomplished at sending mixed signals. What am I to you, Mr. Dresden?"

Oh. I wasn't sure. Hell, I had no idea. "You're my lifeline. I think I'd go crazy without you. When I'm with you, Mab's influence isn't so strong." I leaned my head into his hand, exhaling slowly as he massaged my scalp. "I don't have to be a Warden or a Knight here. You never wanted that, even back when we first met. You just wanted me and that's kind of creepy, but I get it. It works for us." By the time I went quiet, I could feel Lea's charm unraveling from my voice. Lesson learned, I suppose.

John looked... pleased. Content or maybe validated by my answer. "Thank you. Your turn, I believe."

I didn't know what I wanted to ask him. I didn't want to betray the trust he'd given me. I didn't want to take advantage, considering he'd surprised the hell out of me by not using my charm against me. I wasn't sure what was important enough that I wanted to know.

But there was something I was dying to know...

I asked quietly, "Why would you even offer that to me?"

"Is that your question?"

I considered, but nodded. "Yeah."

He smiled, candid and warm, then leaned in. John kissed me, long and languid and slow, because he even if he didn't come out and say things, he could be so completely, fearlessly honest in other ways. He had been since he'd tried to get me to move in with him. Maybe even longer ago.

 _Stars,_ I thought as I kissed him back. _Maybe there was something to this honesty thing._


	5. the virtues of being irreplaceable (or, the one where Harry is the cattiest secretary ever but cannot be fired)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Original Prompt:** ... actually, this one has no prompt. It was a gift for the Outfit Secretary anon who set up the delicious archive on the meme. Apologies for including Rahm Emmanuel. Whether you like his politics or not, he's certainly a character.

Sometimes I regretted discovering the secret to never being fired.

For the record, the secret is to be irreplaceable. You set things up around you so they cannot function in your absence. It's a vindictive thing to do, and once upon a time I didn't think I was capable of that sort of evil, pragmatic thinking. Then I remembered I had a cat and dog that ate more than I did, and an apartment that I really liked. So I learned just a bit of ruthlessness.

My desk was a minefield of papers and sticky notes. I didn't use a planner or calendar, making it impossible for anyone else to figure out Marcone's schedule. When people asked how the hell I kept the good ship Marcone on course and on time, I told them it was all about ritual. I did things a certain way, filed things in an order only I understood, and jotted notes in a mysterious shorthand that bewildered everyone.

It worked.

But the thing about being irreplaceable is that you were also absolutely necessary.

"Where are the notes for the board meeting at eleven?" Marcone asked me as he packed his briefcase for the day. We did this every day, Monday through Saturday, so he had everything he'd need for the schedule. Ritual.

I handed over a manilla folder before tapping a stylus at my PDA. It was an older model that had crashed several times over the years under the weight of all the planning I performed on it. Then my friend Butters installed something called Linux on it. Now it ran like a dream, but no one else could figure out how the fuck to work it. I just assumed the little handheld liked me best.

Irreplaceable.

"Did Rahm return that call?"

I nodded. "Transcripted it and put it under the phone."

Marcone chuckled. "Transcripted?"

"Wouldn't want you to miss the bit where he questioned your parentage, insulted your ethnicity and work ethic, and said he was going to fuck you in the span of two sentences." Tap tap tap when my stylus.

"I daresay Mr. Emmanuel is the Raphael of obscenity."

I nodded again, saying nothing, tapping away.

"Why, Harry, not going to ask if I mean the painter or the turtle?"

"Don't call me that," I said by rote.

"Why not?"

"During office hours, I'm Mr. Dresden. I've told you this."

"I don't consider it office hours when you're playing Bejeweled on your PDA."

I finally looked up at him, which I'd avoided since starting four hours ago. He was giving me that quiet, patient look, like he was waiting me out. I hated when he did that, treated me like I was a child having a snit fit.

"Well, that kind of sucks for you, don't it?" I shot back.

"What's the problem?"

"There's not problem. We're doing what we always do."

He nodded slowly. "Ah."

"Oh, shut up," I snapped, and gathered my things, shoving them into my little cloth satchel bag.

We did this ritual every day, Monday to Saturday.

It was Sunday. One more day of my life that belonged to my overbearing asshole of a boss.

"Harry--"

"Go to your meeting, _sir_ ," I said, voice thick with sarcasm. I never called him 'sir' or 'Mr. Marcone' with a shred of honesty. It was a point of contention with us, my demanding a title while refusing him the same courtesy. But he needed me, so there wasn't much he could do, was there?

I was the first secretary he'd kept for more than a month. I'd been working with John Marcone for over a year now.

I slumped in my desk chair, trying to look busy as he quietly left, pondering how much being irreplaceable sucked.

 

I wasn't supposed to work for him. It'd all been a mistake. I was temping as assistant to his previous secretary, who was one of the types who demanded to be called an _administrative assistant_ and took breaks exactly 59 minutes long. The person in question needed an assistant of their own to keep John Marcone's world spinning properly on its axis. It was a two-person job.

I was that second person for the day. On the same day, snooty politically correct assistant got stuck in traffic after a major accident tied up every road from River North to the Gold Coast.

John Marcone was a ferocious tiger of a businessman, stalking around his office as he and his right-hand man Hendricks tried to get everything together without the tardy PA.

"Who is this?" were the first words he growled at me. "I don't have a meeting scheduled right now. Or I don't _think_ so, Mary, mother of Christ," he lapsed into some creative, resolutely Catholic swearing.

The big burly redhead sighed and looked at me. "You the administrative assistant's personal assistant?"

I blinked and shifted my battered, loyal satchel on my shoulder. "I prefer 'secretary's gopher,' but if you want to be all proper about it, sure."

Marcone's gaze snapped up to me, this time really looking at me. He assessed, did some eyebrowing at me, then turned away again, apparently finished. "Show Mr. Dresden the desk. Perhaps he can be of some assistance."

It took some guesswork, but I figured out what the hell was going on, where things had gone awry, and got Marcone on his way to the South Loop. As he grabbed his coat and headed for the elevator, I called at his back, "Hey, Marcone!"

Marcone froze and slowly turned to look at me, surprised. I probably should've called him 'Mr. Marcone, sir' or maybe 'your royal mafianess, I mean totally legit businessperson, sir.'

"Uh, avoid the main road, it's still tied up. You won't make it to the meeting on time, the accident, you know," I babbled, already mentally gearing myself up for being fired and sent home early. Dammit. "I'd head through Cabrini Green, then take 94 down."

Marcone looked at me long and hard, assessing again. Then he said, "I'll be back at two. See if you can have this office cleaned up by then," and left.

Huh.

He did get back at two. I managed to have the rest of his schedule together by then and had made some headway on finding all the notes he'd need.

The administrative assistant walked in ten minutes after Marcone did, and Marcone sacked him on the spot. "Pack your things and leave. I'm letting you go," he said, like it was some grand mercy on his part.

"You're... what?" The man looked stunned. "Why?"

"You could have _walked_ from your apartment to here by now." Then Marcone nodded to me. "And a temp with a frankly embarrassingly written CV did a far superior job than you ever did. Leave. Now."

The man sputtered for a moment before turning, walking to the secretarial desk, and grabbed his things. He nearly shoved me out of the chair in his haste to gather his effects. "Good luck with him, he's a _monster_ ," the man bit off at me, before leaving.

"Uh," I said in the wake of that little drama.

"How would you like a more permanent job, Mr. Dresden?" Marcone asked me.

And the rest is history. Really stressful, ulcer-inducing history.

 

Marcone brought me large iced mint mocha back from his trip out of the office.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Rahm's on line two," I told him, ignoring the amazing sugary treat for now. "Sounds like he was serious about the whole fucking you if you didn't show up at that fundraiser thing."

Marcone sighed and went into his office, leaving the door open, which was his subtle way of asking me to come in and work with him. He really wanted to make right with me. He knew I could be the most passive aggressive son of a bitch when I wanted to be. And Marcone _hated_ being in the doghouse.

I wondered if he too thought the fact I was irreplaceable sucked.

I kept my head down and worked on bulletpointing the news of the day for him, drinking some instant coffee. I let the iced mocha liquefy, not touching it until I dumped it in the trash hours later.

 

It blew over. Our fights always did. He didn't call me in on Sundays for a solid two months either, so I marked it a win for me.

Marcone's angry nine-fingered ballerina friend made mayor, and I fielded calls for a week from news junkets looking for a juicy scoop on the power behind the Chicago Machine. I passed the more amusing ones onto Marcone just to hear him politely eviscerate them, listening in on the line.

"You think you're funny, Mr. Dresden," Marcone said after one reporter hung up out of shame.

"No, I think _you're_ funny."

"You are quite lucky I need you."

"And you're lucky I need your paycheck," I said sweetly, then hung up on him, getting back to work.

On his way out a hour later, he picked up right where we left off: "You expect me to believe you're only here for the money, Harry?"

"Don't call me that. And yes."

"How short-sighted of you." He grinned like a knife at me. "You enjoy it here. You love the challenge."

"Working here means I gotta buy Tums more regularly than I buy milk," I pointed out. "You give me agida."

"And yet you keep coming back."

"Paycheck," I reminded him.

"The lady doth protest too much."

"Get out of here before I write you up for sexual harassment."

 

"Your five o'clock canceled, can I go home now?" I asked from my desk.

To be annoying, Marcone pressed the intercom button and said, "Come again?"

I leaned over my desk so I could see clear into his office. "No more meetings. Can I knock off early or not?"

He pointed to the intercom button. I gave him the bird before getting up and just walking up to his desk. "I quit."

"I just ordered Thai from that place on the Loop."

"I'll quit tomorrow," I amended, sitting on the corner of his desk and picking up some of the notes I'd typed up for him. He'd marked all over them in highlighter and pen. "This was the master copy, I have to print you a new one."

"Make corrections when you do. It's entrepreneurial, not -orial." He leaned over to point at the proofreader marks he'd left on the page. "We are trying to appear as a competent business, Harry."

"No one cares about a minor typo in the back page of the driest report ever. Everyone's going to see it says, hey, the real estate market is still down, surprise, surprise, and that'll be it. I could put some magic eye pictures in the back pages, no one will notice."

Marcone sighed. "Do as you please, then."

"What'd you order in for? I thought we had everything in the bag before today." I waved the annotated notes at him. "Until you screwed with my report, anyway."

"Did you have somewhere to be?"

"No."

"Well, then stay and eat. You can remain on the clock and have a nicer paycheck, as that is your motivation for being here anyway, is it not?"

He looked up at me and I stared back hard. It was a test, I knew that. My snark about being here for the money had rattled something in that big, scary head of his, and this was his way of feeling me out.

I should have just gone home and been done with it. That would be the smart thing.

But I _really_ wanted some of that Thai food.

"You order crab ragoon?"

"Of course, Harry."

I shook my head. "Don't call me that."

He smiled, hiding the curve of his mouth behind steepled fingers. "You could call me John in return if you like."

I slid off the desk and headed by to my work area. "I'll call you what I want and you'll like it."

"Oh, I have no doubt about that," Marcone said quietly, watching me go with a gaze that was too keen.

We had Thai, worked at our respective desks, not speaking. It still felt weirdly companionable.

That should've been warning enough that I needed to get out. But I was too busy being the magnetic north to Marcone's compass to do anything too intelligent like that.

 

I wasn't afraid of anyone in Chicago, which people find hard to believe. I worked for a man who everyone knew was part of the mob, obviously I should've been nervous about him or some of his associates.

But I wasn't. Not really. Though if I had to admit to being afraid of anyone, it'd be the fucking ballerina that stopped by twice a week without fail to screw up Marcone's schedule.

Rahm walked off the elevator like he owned the place and headed directly towards Marcone's office door, not passing Go, not collecting two hundred dollars.

I rose to my feet and moved to head him off, reaching the door just before him. "He's busy."

"Oh, fuck you, princess, your boss is busy when I say he's fucking busy."

I wrapped my hand around the doorknob and held it shut. "He's on a conference call to Los Angeles, you can wait."

Rahm rocked back on his heels, eyes widening. "Oh, I can wait? I can wait? Can I wait, princess?"

I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. I had temper issues and blowing up at the Mayor of Chicago would have only lead to bad things. Marcone had a habit of fixing all his employees problems by sheer force of will, but Rahm was possibly the only guy in the city who was equal to Marcone in power. Maybe. Depended on who you asked.

"I'll let him know you're here, maybe he can wrap it up early."

"You are adorable, you know that?" Rahm patted my cheek. "How are you always on duty when I need your man?"

I frowned. "I'm the only secretary here."

"No shit, really? You handle it all yourself? Motherfuck, I didn't know that." His face transformed into a blinding, terrifying smile. "Hell, princess, you should come work for me, you're less likely to get subpoenaed by the FBI."

The door opened suddenly and Marcone peered out at us. "Rahm."

"Hey, Johnny, why didn't you tell me your boy here was a fucking one man administrative army? I would have tried poaching him months ago." He looked back at me. "I'll give you what he's giving you plus two days off a week."

I let myself smile a little. "I only get Sundays right now."

"Fuck that, don't let this confessional junkie dictate your off days. Fucking Catholics, gotta love them, if only to balance out their self-loathing."

"Rahm," Marcone said again, eyes narrowing.

"Yeah, you got a minute? I mean, I don't want to intrude on your pedicure hour or anything, I'm only your fucking mayor now."

"You wouldn't be mayor if not for me," Marcone retorted coldly.

"You just upped the margins, baby." He tossed another look at me. "What do you think, work at City Hall? We got a fucking garden on the roof, you got that here?"

I smiled, all mock-sweetness. "Why, no, Mr. Emmanuel, we don't."

Marcone's face pulled tight and he reached out and grabbed Rahm's tie, pulling him bodily into the office. "That's enough."

"Johnny, we gotta be married before I let you drag me around like that. My wife gets mad if I get kinky with the mob," was all I heard before the door slammed shut.

I watched it after it shut, contemplative. That had been... interesting.

 

Rahm left, texting on one Blackberry and talking loudly on another pressed to his ear. I suddenly felt very privileged to not be working for him. Marcone might've been a high-functioning sociopath with a knife fetish, but he was quieter.

Marcone came out of the office after Rahm left and stood there in the lobby, staring at me.

I eyebrowed at him. "What?"

Marcone shook his head and made to retreat back into his lair. At the door, he turned back to me and said, "I can't even get you to call me John. Why is that?"

I'd been kidding when I referred to Rahm as Mr. Emmanuel. But it bothered Marcone, just like the paycheck thing. I could see it, how it dug under his skin like little else could. He wore those pinstriped suits like Kevlar battle armor, but for me it was so easy to precision strike through it all and hit him where he was soft and unguarded.

I licked my lips. "It was a joke."

"The point stands." He shook his head, looking down at my ridiculously messy desk. "Rahm was serious, you know."

"Rahm's never serious."

"Serious about the offer, I mean."

I shrugged. "I don't want another day off a week. What would I do with it? Sunday's the only day Murph, Butters, and my D&D group all have off anyway." I averted my gaze. "Plus, you wouldn't know what to do with yourself if I left."

Marcone hummed quietly. "That's true..."

He didn't say anything else, but I could feel his eyes on the top of my head as I kept my own gaze down. "You have another call to make to Miami in ten minutes."

"Thank you," Marcone murmured, and finally disappeared back into his office, shutting the door quietly.

 

Mid-April, I got into the office and found a vase filled with roses on my desk. No card, but I doubted they were from my brother or ex-girlfriend, so I walked into the office and said, "Roses?"

Marcone smiled at me. "Yes."

"For?"

"Administrative Professional Day."

"That is _not_ a holiday."

"I assure you it is."

"What am I supposed to do with roses?"

"Admire them and take them as a token of appreciation?" Marcone suggested.

"I take them as a token of you being out of your mind." I dug my PDA out of my pocket and poked at it. "Budget meeting prep with accounting. Go, now. Get out of my office."

Marcone snapped his briefcase shut and walked to me. "Your office, Mr. Dresden?"

"Yeah," I said, meeting his gaze steadily. "Rahm said either you're my bitch or I'm your bitch, and we know it isn't the latter."

"I do wish you two didn't get along so well," he said earnestly. "He's terrible for your vocabulary."

"Meeting. Go." I pointed to the elevator.

"Enjoy the roses," he said.

" _Now_ , Marcone," I said, making a whipcrack motion.

"Oh, don't tease, Harry," he added before leaving, a grin on his facee.

Seizing the instinct that said passive aggressive was the answer here, I dumped all two dozen roses into the trashcan. Marcone's trashcan.

Except one, because I am, under my badass secretarial demi-god exterior, secretly a huge romantic sap and I liked the roses. The rose ended up in the drawer where I kept my pens and sticky notes. It was fragrant, and I breathed deeply as I worked the rest of the day, using the rose like some bizarre type of aromatherapy. It was relaxing and left me smiling faintly.

I could feel Marcone watching me as he made phonecalls, trying to figure me out. There was no greater pleasure I'd found than fucking with John Marcone, so I smiled a little wider, opened the desk drawer, and shut my eyes, breathing in.

 

Right before the quarterly budget meeting, I had to pull another Sunday for Marcone, but given how much he had to cram for it, I decided to be the better man and didn't give him too much shit for ruining another of my off days. Even when we worked through the morning, ate lunch at his desk, and only stopped as the sun started disappearing behind the skyline.

I bent over the desk, scribbling at the corner of a paper, trying to make the dying pen keep working. My back was _killing_ me. I sat across from Marcone, and his desk had the facade front to it, so there was no place for my cranefly legs as I worked. Bending for a few hours at the painful angle it took to write was taking its toll. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," I grumbled, tapping the pen angrily against the wood.

"We can wrap for the night," Marcone said gently, going to draw the blinds to block out the sunglare.

"Oh, can we?" I tried to sit up straight and hissed in pain. "Ow. Dammit, do you have a pen? I need to write, like, three more words."

"I gave you a pen."

"It's dead."

Marcone sighed. "A moment, then." He walked out to my desk, then returned with a pen. "Mr. Dresden."

"Thanks." I uncapped it with my teeth and finished the sentence I was writing, then sat back in the chair, wincing. "I hate you."

He stepped up behind me. "Thank you for all your help."

"Yeah-huh."

He stood over me a moment, then said, "Look down for me."

I blinked and looked at the floor. "What? Did we lose a page?"

Marcone's hands touched lightly against the back of my neck. His thumbs dug in, framing my spine, and swept down, pressing hard.

A groan ripped out of my throat. "Oh, _god_." Marcone hushed me and did it again, and again, dragging the tension and knots out of me. "Oh, fuck me, I am so suing you for sexual harassment."

Marcone chuckled. "Will you really?"

"I will if you _stop_ ," I promised him, shutting my eyes and slumping forward, my elbows on the desk, my head bowed low. "Christ."

"I'm sorry for working you so hard."

"Nngh."

"Will you let me make it up to you?"

I thought he was doing a good job already, skating his fingers up against my scalp. I made another noise.

"The Vermilion, dinner. I'll pay."

That place was a swanky place I'd been to once before on my brother's wedding when he and Justine held their reception there. It was some of the greatest food in Chicago. I could still taste it in my dreams.

"Mm, okay," I said softly. "But keep doing that for a moment, okay?"

 

I had the sense to eat a lot and not drink a lot. As it was, when Marcone got me back in his car, I slumped lazily across my seat and part of his, content and happy. "That was excellent," I murmured, shutting my eyes.

Marcone laughed, that quiet, throaty sound he only let out in private, masculine and pleased. "I'm glad you approve, Harry."

"Don't call me that."

"These are not office hours."

I opened one eye and took in his relaxed posture, his arm over the seat behind me, how his hand was resting lightly on my knee. I took it all in before meeting his eyes.

"I am not your Maggie Gyllenhaal."

Marcone arched an eyebrow at me. "I didn't think you were, Harry."

"Then what am I, Marcone?"

"You..." He paused, thinking. "You are an irreplaceable asset."

I frowned. "That's all?"

He inclined his head. "You tell me."

I didn't. I just lay my head against the window until the car swung by my apartment. I didn't invite him in for coffee, and he didn't look surprised by that. But I did say, "Goodnight, John."

His smile was blinding, fast and bold on his face. "Sleep well, Harry."

 

I got a call from Molly, my friend's daughter who I'd gotten a job in another office by pulling a few strings. After I hung up, I launched into a panicked flurry, grabbing file folders and papers, printing out an extra report, before barging into Marcone's office.

He was on the phone. "I appreciate the offer, but tell Ari I see perhaps three movies in the theatres every year, premiere tickets would be wasted on me. Yes, Rahm, I heard you the first time. I just don't think--"

I yanked the phone out of his hand and yelled into it, "You have a fucking city to run, asshole, get to motherfucking work!"

Rahm made an inappropriate noise over the line. "If that's how you talk to Johnny, I am so poaching, I swear to--"

I hung up on him and threw Marcone's gym bag at him. "Get your trainers on, pronto."

"Harry, what--"

"Vargassi's idiot kid bumped up the meeting, it's happening in ten minutes, and they _accidentally_ forgot to let us know," I informed him even as I dumped out his briefcase and started shoving a new set of paperwork into it.

"Son of a _bitch_ ," Marcone swore, kicking off his loafers and starting to follow my orders.

"Yeah, he's putting the expansion to a vote now and it's going to fuck up everything--"

"I know, Harry!"

"If you aren't at the meeting, you lose your vote and--"

"Yes, I know!" He tied the laces faster than I could track

"You need to just run it or you're going to be late," I kept going, shoving the briefcase into his hands as he got up. We jogged to the elevator and I hit the call button. "Don't get hit by a car or anything, all right?"

"I'm going to dash his head against the pavement for this," Marcone said venomously, stepping into the elevator as it opened, twisting to jab the ground floor button.

"Well, wait until the meeting's over to do that, would you?"

Marcone didn't reply, and the doors shut. I stared at the shiny metal doors placidly, my bluster and adrenaline fading, leaving me tired.

I went to my desk and started cancelling appointments.

I tried not to worry when Marcone didn't come back after the meeting was scheduled to wrap up. I just canceled another appointment and went back to watching the clock.

More and more time ticked by. I eventually broke one of my own rules about interrupting meetings and called his cell phone. It put me straight to voice mail, so I guessed he was still in the thick of it.

When the sun started setting, I'd wiped out all of the day's schedule and checked the ERs of every hospital on the East Side. Hendricks hadn't seen him either.

I pulled a lot of strings and got someone to go to the actual conference room John had run to. It was apparently still locked and my mole said it sounded noisy in there.

I had no idea what was going on. Well, I knew Marco Vargassi was a whiny bitch who was pissed the company handed the expansion project to Marcone instead of him, and Marco would happily deep-six the project to remove Marcone from power, even if that meant the company would end the year in the red. He was a stupid kid who couldn't handle the fact his daddy was looking to Marcone as heir instead of his own flesh and blood. Italians. I don't get them.

So I waited for word on whether I should bother coming into work tomorrow. We'd put everything into the expansion, and if it was tossed, Marcone would lose the majority of his power in the company.

I put my head in my hands to stop my shaking.

If worst came to pass, I didn't know what I'd do. Marcone might do something crazy like starting his own company and taking the expansion opportunity for himself, building a name on it. I wondered if I could follow him. There could've been a non-competition clause in my contract, it wasn't unheard of when you got to working for the higher-ups. I didn't want to work with whoever replaced Marcone. Who else was going to put up with my brand of tough love and illegible shorthand?

I wished John would just fucking _call me_.

 

He didn't. Instead, he showed up late into the night, his briefcase slung over one shoulder, tie tucked in his pocket, shirt partially undone and completely untucked. He looked tired, but his eyes brightened when he saw me at my desk.

"You're still here," he breathed, walking over, setting his case on the ground.

"What happened?" I asked, rubbing my eyes. I'd been dozing in my chair.

"Really, it's nearly midnight. You should have gone home."

"John," I snapped, "don't do this right now. What happened?"

John laughed softly. "My apologies. I must have worried you terribly." He circled the desk and sat on my mess of papers, perching over me, smiling disquietingly. "I made it to the meeting."

"Oh, thank Christ," I sighed. "The project is on?"

"Yes."

I relaxed, sagging back in my chair with a groan. "Okay. Okay, great. So, um. Why did that take nearly six hours?"

Marcone's smile turned a little deadly and for a moment I thought he was going to relate to me how he murdered Marco Vargassi and disposed of his body in the Lake. "It didn't. It took two. The remaining four I used to have Marco thrown off the board."

I froze. It wasn't vengeful murder, but it was close to it. "You... what?"

"I candidly told the other board members of Marco's treachery and how he would willingly sacrifice the largest opportunity our establishment's ever had just to settle a petty grudge against me." He grinned with all his teeth. "And his father happened to be there to hear my arguments."

I put a hand over my mouth. "Holy shit."

"Mmm," he hummed, looking completely pleased with himself. "I find it hard to believe Marco will be inheriting the company from his father after this."

"You're crazy. Oh my god," I muttered. "You're a lunatic, you just..." I frowned and punched him in the arm. "You couldn't _tell me_ about this? I could have had more dirt on Marco to help you out or something."

His grin lost it's predatory edge, softer now. "Harry, if not for you, I would be packing up my office tonight."

His gaze on me was hot and I glanced away. "Yeah, well, me too. I had to save my own job. Otherwise I might've needed to take Rahm up on his offer."

"Thank you," he said so honestly.

I shrugged. "Need that paycheck, you know. I didn't do it for you."

He leaned forward a little. "Not even a little, Harry?"

"Office hours," I reminded him.

He twisted on my desk to face my computer and dragged the keyboard over. With a few clicks and a few struck keys, he clocked me out of the company's system. "There."

"It was self-preservation," I told him, a little desperately. "I don't even _like_ you."

"No?" John smiled at me, tilting towards me.

I tried to push my chair away, but John reached out and grabbed the arm, stopping me. "No, I don't."

"Curious." He let go, hopping off my desk and circling around me. He grabbed the back of my chair and pushed me back up to the desk, then leaned forward, arms reaching over my shoulders to grab the main drawer. He pulled it open.

And there sat the dark, brittle remains of the rose from his extravagant bouquet. I'd kept it, letting it dry out, telling myself every few days that I needed to toss it out, but never quite remembering to.

I felt John's face against mine, exhalation hot and damp against my cheek. "I don't think I believe you, Harry."

I didn't breathe for a long moment, just staring down at the rose, the stupid, ridiculous thing he'd given me because he couldn't just settle for dominating my life eight to nine hours a day, six days a week. He just had to take Rahm's flirty threats of poaching seriously, to get hung up on what I called him, to over-analyze everything about me until he knew my moods as well as I knew his.

He just _had_ to slowly, gradually turn his head as press his lips to my temple.

A sound caught in my throat as I shut my eyes and took in the softness of his mouth against my skin.

"Harry," John murmured before shifting lower and kissing my ear. I inhaled sharply, twitching. I had sensitive ears. "Harry, Christ." He bit the lobe and I shook, my head falling back. John laid his hand on my chest and skating it up until he cupped my neck. He tilted my head to the side and kissed down the exposed line from my ear to my collar. "You're going to have to stop me, Harry."

He was leaning against the back of my chair, close enough to one-handedly undo the buttons of my shirt and slip inside to palm my ribs possessively. I sighed, tipping my head however I needed to to let him have better access to my neck. "Not yet," I mumbled, reaching up and tangling my fingers in his hair.

John groaned and nipped the taut tendon of my neck. "Better do it soon."

I clenched the fist in his hair, pulling a little unkindly. "I'm not going to be your eyecandy in the lobby, okay? You are going to respect me in the morning or I'll make your life a fucking misery and then leave you for Rahm, got it?"

He nodded, pulling against my grip even as his breathing got harder. "Any other conditions?" he said, hot against the mark he was worrying into my skin. I fucking _knew_ he got off on negotiating terms. Kinky bastard.

"You're still going to call me Mr. Dresden in office hours," I told him, and he made this winded, heated noise that made me lose my train of thought. That, and the fact his hand slipped down to undo my belt even as I kept going. "And I'm not going to get under the desk for you, ever," and even as I said it, I couldn't help but think about it. Him hard in my mouth, struggling to keep his voice even as he helmed a meeting while I worked at him. Or maybe his voice wouldn't waver, would remain solid as steel, because he was that fucking insane with his self-control. No one would ever know I was there, it'd be so damn--

John bit my neck hard. "Of course not, it's be juvenile and dangerous. But an intriguing idea." He got his hand in my pants and cupped me, just a shade too hard, making me hiss and buck into his fingers. "Worth exploring."

"N-never gonna happen," I stuttered.

"You under my desk, I doubt it." He squeezed, ground the heel of his hand against my hardening cock. "But perhaps vice-versa, Mr. Dresden?"

Oh god, screw professionalism, I wanted _that_. I whined through clenched teeth, tossing my head back against his shoulder, hard just thinking about his clever mouth driving me to distraction as I worked, _fuck_.

"Well, Mr. Dresden?"

I bucked up into his hand again, but by leaning on me, he had me pinned to the chair and I couldn't move enough to get friction. "God, yes, just stop being a fucking cocktease, you can do whatever you want."

I was pulled out of the chair suddenly, so fast my knees buckled, not ready to me. John got me against the desk before I could fall, my hips against the edge, my legs splayed out as he pinned me there with his body. I tried to scramble my legs back under me to hold my weight, but John pressed in, standing between my legs, and rocked his hips against mine, and I forgot all about everything but the friction. "Oh, hell."

"Whatever I want?" John gave me a shark-like grin, all smooth, lethal businessman who could fuck me over and be thanked for the privilege. That look of ferocious victory that shone in his money-green eyes, this is why I stayed in the office when he went out. If I had to see him like that on a daily basis, I'd have thrown myself at him a long time ago. Now, it was a little late for that, with him backing me up on the desk and tipping my head up towards him. "I want quite a lot, Harry."

One of the things he wanted was apparently to crush my mouth under his, tongue pushing past my lips and teeth to explore my mouth with the same single-minded focus he gave to his work. It was equal parts flattering and scorching hot, the way he plowed through my defenses. He was taking me apart like my perpetual aloofness personally offended him and getting me to come to pieces for him would make it all better. His hand worked into the back of my slacks, under my boxers, squeezing my ass hard enough I gasped and thrust up, rubbing against his leg.

I needed to pretend I wasn't losing all the control I maintained in our tenuous relationship. The thought that I'd be conquered as easily as any rival company that stepped into Marcone's territory should've been humiliating after how long I spent trying to keep him on my secretarial leash.

Instead, it was felt like he was mounting me on my own desk, sending all my work scattering away as he got our pants down, my legs around him, and rocked us together in a hard, fast rhythm. I heard the screech of the desk legs sliding across the tile floor, loud and echoing in the cavernous lobby. "Fuck, you're messing up my papers, you jackass," I managed between gasps.

John worked a hand between us and around our cocks, too tight but so goddamn good it made my head spin. "You drive me crazy," he said, voice a ragged edge. "You're utterly _impossible_. I should hate you for the power you have over me."

I got my hands back in his hair, yanking him harshly down for another kiss. "Someone has to keep you in line, Marcone."

He laughed shallowly, twisting his hand and sending my eyes rolling up. He watched avidly, drinking in all my reactions. "I've wanted to bend you over this desk every single time you mouthed off at me. Did you know that, Harry?" I just moaned thinly. He was still jerking us so rough and carelessly, I felt myself driven quickly right to the brink and grabbed his shoulders, holding on. "Just like this, I wanted to see you yield and cut the fucking subordination, wanted to make you call me sir like you're supposed to."

I thumped my head back against the desk, digging my shoulders back, my spine curving as it kept coming. "Never," I panted, "going to happen."

His hand fucking _stopped_ , right before I tipped into climax, his fist squeezing me with enough force to stop it in its tracks. "John, you bastard--"

He pushed himself up, one arm holding him over me. His face was flushed, pupils blown wide, expression barely controlled mania. "Ask me."

I reached down to finish the job myself, but he caught my hands and slammed them back down on the desk. Oh, _fuck_ , that shouldn't have been so sexy, but I had to swallow a groan. "No."

He stroked me once, grip light and not even close to enough. "Come on, Mr. Dresden."

His hand continued to work at me, keeping me so fucking close to it. "Fuck you, John." The impact of my words wasn't great, as I just kept arching against him, panting and already begging for it in every other way.

"Say _please_." His thumb rubbed circles around the head of my cock, slick with precome.

I wanted it bad enough. "Dammit, John, please."

"Go on."

He had me so close, I didn't care anymore. I finally gave it up, "Please, sir."

John stroked me base to tip once, twice, and I drew tight as a bowstring and came on his command. He worked me through it, falling against me heavily. At a distance, I felt him thrust against the slick curve of my hip and shudder through his own orgasm, letting out a pleased sigh.

I shivered under him, coming down slowly, sinking deep into afterglow. Everything was warm and comfortable, even if my legs were starting to hurt from being locked around him so long. I belatedly untangled myself from him, slumping back across my desk, breathing deep and even. I could have fallen asleep like that, spread out under him.

John shifted above me and honest-to-god nuzzled my neck, affectionate and drowsy. "I have waited a long time for that, Harry."

I started to laugh, quietly at first, then louder as it just bubbled out of me. "You're insane."

John hummed contemplatively. "Perhaps. It was still eminently satisfying." He lifted his head and kissed me chastely. "Now, at the risk of sounding presumptuous, I would like to take you home and do all of this again, but in an actual bed."

No need for negotiation there.

 

Of course the Mayor of Chicago had to show up when I had my pants off and was trying desperately to look like I _wasn't_ getting a blowjob under my desk.

Rahm did that fast walk that Marcone and other power execs did, the one that made their overcoats flap out like superhero capes. Rahm was a full foot shorter than me, but he carried himself with such unerring confidence you'd never notice it. He marched like that into the office lobby like it was City Hall.

"Princess, where's your boss, I'm going fucking castrate him with a boxcutter," he said, loose and fast in that way that meant he wasn't actually going to kill Marcone, but was going to demand a favor or public appearance. Small change.

I was hunched over my desk, trying to hide behind the monitor of my computer. One hand I kept fisted on the desk, nails biting into my skin. The other I slipped underneath, catching John's hair and trying to shove him away. John refused to back off and I couldn't get rid of him without drawing attention. Instead I made an effort to sit up and look calm.

"He's out. Lunch hour, he'll be back..." My eyes crossed as John hummed quietly around my cock. Oh god. I was going to kill him. "Back... forty minutes or so."

John slipped closer to me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He swallowed me down just like that and I gritted my teeth on the groan fighting to tear out of my throat.

"Johnny doesn't leave the office for lunch. He works at his fucking desk like he's running in the biggest fucking workaholic competition. If food and sleep didn't maximize his fucking efficiency, he'd never leave the damn office." Rahm went to John's door and opened it, looking in. "Okay, where the fuck is he hiding, princess?"

"He's not here, Rahm, for chrissake-- Mmmmgah." My chair's wheels squeaked as I thrust my hips forward where John was tonguing the slit of my cockhead. "J-just get out, jesus."

Rahm stopped and really looked at me, taking in my expression, my flushed tone. It didn't help that John eased off, sucking just the tip before sliding back down so fucking slowly my toes were curling in my shoes. I huffed out a breath, barely keeping hold of my control. Rahm, of course, noticed how I was fraying at the seams and got it. "Oh. _Oooooh._ Oh, you kinky little minx." He grinned at me. "Motherfucking Johnny gets all the best toys." He pitched his voice louder, clearly not addressing me anymore. "Enjoy this shit while you can 'cause I am stealing your secretary the second you aren't looking. Fair fucking warning, baby."

John backed off me to chuckle quietly, then licked the top of my cock, tip to base. I slapped a hand over my mouth, smothering a moan.

Rahm beamed wider. "Waiter, I'll have what he's having."

"Fuck you, asshole!" I blindly grabbed something off my desk-- a paperweight-- and threw it at him. I wasn't exactly focused on the task at hand, so Rahm easily sidestepped, darting back to the elevator.

"I'll just leave you to it, shall I?" He cackled. "Johnny can give me the details later."

I flipped him the bird, too inarticulate to do anything else.

The elevator pinged shut behind him as he left and I slumped over the desk. My cheek pressed against the wood grain as I grabbed John's hair with both hands, needing it so fucking bad. "Oh, oh fuck, I hate you, you bastard..."

John was a bit busy to say anything. He sucked hard and soft in turn, mercifully getting me close. I panted for air. "Haa... haaa... oh, shit, John, pleasepleaseplease."

He let me thrust, tongue working, and finally stopped playing around. I came into his mouth, keening loudly as he eased me through it.

John swallowed and climbed out from under the desk, leaving me damp and wrecked just out of view. He leaned down to grab something. I blinked as I recognized my pants and boxers in his hand.

He leaned over me, chest against my back, and kissed my ear. "Back to work, Mr. Dresden," he purred before straightening, walking into his office with half my clothes tucked under his arm.

I blushed hot red and groaned against my desk.

"Mr. Dresden," John called. "I need the draft of the expansion report retyped."

"All right," I answered feebly.

"Say that again, Mr. Dresden?"

I sat up, shivering as the air cooled my dick, a sticky reminder that was going to drive me up the wall. "On it, sir."


	6. thawing out (or, the one with the hot tub sex)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Original Prompt:** Come on people. You know how Harry never experienced a hot water bath in his adult life until White Night. Just like how others could have seduced him into their side with food instead of money, power, etc. I suspect that hot water works as well.
> 
> You could throw in Hot Water!Sex if you want. XD
> 
>  **ETA 15 Nov 2012:** Now a [poooooodfic](http://nadir.dreamwidth.org/323.html)~! By Nadir. Check it out post-haste, it's excellent!

I felt that, as Winter Knight, I deserved more respect than this.

The Accords conference took place in a opulent, fancy hotel in the middle of January, when the snow was still falling. It'd been as boring as every Accords meeting. I was there to police or something. Mostly, I just ended up standing in the corner with Fix, talking shop while Lily and Maeve spit verbal acid at each other, Ivy wrote notes in colorful magic marker, and Marcone made everyone nervous. Even Lara was side-eyeing the Baron and his polite smile, which had barely left his face since the meeting started.

I wasn't bothered. After this long, Marcone barely freaked me out. I was used to him.

As the meeting came to a close, Hendricks appeared from wherever he'd been lurking and said, "Baron requests a meeting with you, Knight." Using my title seemed to physically pain him.

"What's Johnny need me for this time?" I asked flippantly.

"Private matters." He passed me a slip of paper. "Go here. He'll meet you when he gets away from the meeting."

I appreciated an excuse to escape the boredom of supernatural politics and left immediately, heading for the hotel room written on the paper. It was, predictably, the suite at the very top of the building. It covered the entire floor and was bigger than my apartment by a large degree. There was a bed that was whatever was bigger than King Size, a big-screen, a full kitchen that had an actual _pantry_ , and an inset floor with a giant bathtub that overlooked Chicago.

The bathtub threw me a moment, before I wandered over and saw it had little jets in the shell of it. So, a jacuzzi. It wasn't running, but the water was hot enough to steam the air.

So, once again I was reminded how ridiculously wealthy Marcone was. Great.

I hung around the suite for a while, waiting. The conference downstairs had to have wrapped by now. Yet Marcone was still a no-show. I started to get annoyed. Reluctantly so or not, I was the Winter Knight and I didn't appreciate being left hanging.

I raided his pantry, noshing on some Ritz crackers I unearthed, happily spreading crumbs all over the plush carpeting. I also got comfy, kicking off my shoes and leaving my ornate Knightly cloak in a heap on the floor. I would have popped open a few beers or drank a few Cokes, but there were none in Marcone's fridge.

Eventually, I wandered out of the room and found two goons standing guard at the door. "Hey! Where the hell is he?"

They looked at me wordlessly.

"Sorry, lemme try that again." I cleared my throat. "The Knight of Winter requests the Free-holding Lord and Baron of Chicago hurry his ass up. I got better things to do. Also, I'm going to wreck the room if he isn't here post-haste."

Still no response. Hell's bells, you'd think John cut out their tongues or something. Not likely-- that was more the Nickleheads' gig.

I sighed and wandered back into the room. I managed to watch the TV for ten minutes before the high-tech plasma screen shorted out. Then I was just as bored as I had been at the conference.

I paced a loop around the room, seriously considering just leaving. It'd annoy Marcone, which was a fun bonus. He always assumed any Chicagoan would obey him. That was normally true too, but I wasn't just a subject of Chicago anymore. I had dual-citizenship with Winter. He couldn't touch me without sparking an incident.

But in truth, I didn't want to leave and head back to Faerie. Since becoming the Knight, cold didn't hurt me, but it never stopped being unpleasant. I couldn't remember the last time I felt warm.

Oh, speaking of warm...

I plodded over to the jacuzzi and examined it more carefully. It was several feet across, still temptingly hot, and had a lot of fun buttons along the side. I'd never been in one, but it seemed safe enough. It might've even been big enough for my tall frame to relax in.

Marcone still wasn't around and I was caring less and less. Standing over the heated pool, I could feel just how brittle and cold I felt. I wanted a little relief.

And, in the process, I'd likely break the jacuzzi and Marcone would have to pony up for it. Win-win scenario.

I found a fluffy towel in the closet and stripped off my clothes, actually taking the time to fold them and set them within arm's reach of of the tub. I took one quick look around-- because if Marcone wanted to embarrass the hell out of me, now would be the time to walk in-- but I was still alone.

So I slipped into the water. Not my brightest decision, but no where near my worst either. I counted that as a win.

The water felt _amazing_. It loosened my magic, washed it away from me, and replaced it with a soothing heat that was already starting to seep into me. I hadn't even settled on the curved seat of the tub before I was groaning happily.

For a brief moment, it was too much, the heat combating the Winter magic that chilled my bones. It hurt, stinging and prickly as the water tried to leeched that cold out me. I shivered hard, then shut my eyes and slipped all the way under the water.

A few seconds, and I resurfaced, flushed and relaxed, the pain gone, the heat surrounding me like a balm to all my aches and pains.

I drifted to underwater seat and rested on it lightly, mostly just floating in the water, suspended. I hitched one arm up to lay across the rim to anchor myself against floating away, and my hand landed on the buttons that operated the tub.

Well then.

I blindly pushed a few buttons until a jet opened up right into the small of my back and I let out an embarrassing, strangled moan. I sank further into the water, down until my shoulders were submerged, and felt the knots in my back _melt_ under the jet's attention. I drifted down, off the seat, and tipped my head back as I floated. With my face tilted skyward, the water came up to my temples, covering my ears, which made the noises I was making muffled. That worked well; I couldn't hear my pathetically happy groaning, so I wasn't self-conscious about it, and I just enjoyed the way the water undid all my tension and hurts.

Without sound, floating suspended in the water and my body went lax, time slipped away from me. I didn't think about the Accords or Maeve's habit of snapping her fingers at me like I was her pet to be called or about Winter at all. It was insulating, blocking out the world around me and wrapping me up in a soothing warmth where no one would reach me.

Vanilla mortals were spoiled _rotten_ on hot water, I'm telling you.

My body was completely loose. My arms drifted aimlessly through the water, my back bent and tilted as my hip drifted. My legs were too long to stretch out completely, but I bent my knees just a little and that was enough. I had no connection to anything, totally ungrounded, and was enjoying the hell out of it.

I couldn't even make myself care when my eyes opened a crack and I saw Marcone sitting on the floor next to the tub, watching me with a bemused gleam to his green eyes. His mouth was curved into a crescent of a smile as he sat there, his suit jacket gone, tie undone, and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

It took a few seconds for the thought _oh hey, Marcone's finally here to cross my mind_ , and even then it was like the thought was slow as molasses, like the rest of me. Because of that, I didn't startle or react to the fact that Marcone had been watching me make use of his jacuzzi for an unknown amount of time. I just arched my back, swung my arms, and lifted my head from the water.

Once my ass was back on the seat, I turned to him. "What took you so long?" I asked. I was going to angry and annoyed, but was too fucking zen for it and it came out like an uncaring question.

Marcone smiled. "Oh, don't pretend you minded. I don't think I've ever seen you so complaisant in our long relationship."

"Mm," I hummed, oddly agreeable. My head felt too heavy to hold up alone, so I rested my neck against the lip of the tub. "You left me waiting."

"I was held up. The Lady Maeve wanted to make me a deal." He leaned over, propped up on one hand, practically reclining next to me.

"Anything fun?" I didn't actually care, but I was using his jacuzzi, so I figured civil conversation was on the menu.

"Maeve wanted some first born children to temporarily take into her Court. In returned, I could have use of her Knight."

I chuckled drowsily. "Did you tell her to go fuck herself?"

Marcone snorted. "Perhaps not so vulgarly."

I hummed again, eyes shutting. I didn't need to worry about that deal. Maeve could have offered Marcone all the power of Winter and he would have said no. No kids was his rule. Never children.

"Now then," Marcone murmured. "What do I do with a Knight naked in my hotel suite?"

Uh. My eyes popped open, a little wakefulness coming back to me. "I... left my swim trunks at home?"

Marcone's gaze slipped away from my face and down my body. "Clearly."

"I was waiting over an hour."

"Well, I'm glad you found some way to occupy yourself in my absence." He wasn't looking me in the face either.

If I wasn't all pink and rosy from the heat, I would've flushed. "Hey, my eyes are up here!"

"You have an uncanny talent for stating the obvious." His hand was cool when it touched my shoulder, inducing a languid shiver from me. I opened my mouth to tell him off for his wandering eyes. I didn't get the chance to; his hand slid up my neck, cupped my jaw, and moved me into the perfect position to lean down and press his mouth against mine.

I gave in so easily, so heat-drunk and relaxed. It meant nothing to let his tongue swipe over my lower lip, to open my mouth and let him lick inside, tasting like expresso and warmth. It was one of those monumentally bad ideas, letting him cup my head and kiss me so sweet and so soft, but it fit right in with the dreamy relaxation I was feeling. I pushed back against his tongue just to incite him to kiss me deeper, taking my face in both of his hands and mapping my mouth thoroughly and relentlessly.

He let go of me and I wasn't ready for it. I slipped into the water for a moment before getting my footing and pushing back up. In just that time, he managed to strip off his shirt and shoes. As I rubbed water from my eyes, the rest of his clothes vanished and hello, John Marcone was naked.

No wonder they called him the Baron. Yowza.

Before I became the Knight, it would have bothered me that I was getting an eyeful of naked male Free-Holding Lord. Then I was mounted by Queen Mab on the stone table for all of Winter to see. I'd had a few horizons broadened. Came with the territory.

I probably should have taken a moment to think about the political ramifications for Winter, or something Knightly like that. But for the moment, Winter's chill had been banished from my body and I didn't care.

Marcone slipped into the water with me, pushing me off the seat and into the smooth wall of the tub, his body pressed tight against my chest. His hands skimmed down my sides before he cupped the back of my knees, bent my legs, and hooked them around his waist. I was half-hard just from all the tension release and rocked slow and easy against him, dragging my dick along his toned abs. I always knew he worked out, but now I got to see that power up close and without the lethal danger often involved in seeing John Marcone take up arms.

He growled like a cat against my ear and tipped my hips forward and up, rutting against me hard. I could feel how much he enjoyed watching my soak, the length of his snug against my ass.

I was still totally calm and let my head fall back with a groan. When I grabbed the rim of the jacuzzi to hold myself aloft, John shifted his grip and rocked harder against me, sweet friction everywhere that counted.

"You could fuck me if you wanted," I offered casually.

John's hips stuttered against me. "I... had imagined I'd have to convince you," he ground out, sounding really turned on and on-board with the idea.

I felt a little bad, keying him up so much while I was so mellow. Except how I totally didn't. Turnabout, baby. I smiled and tightened my legs around him so his cock nestled that much more against my ass. "Sorry. I can play hard to get if you prefer."

"We can skip that, I think." If he was shooting for calm, collected Baron-Lord, he missed it a bit, which was flattering. I opened my eyes enough to see him, leaned over me, eyes dilated and dark with arousal. Wet and begging for it was a good look for him.

The upside of my boneless physical state was how _easy_ it was. I let John tip me up in the water just a little further and he met no resistance getting his fingers in me, no slick, just stretching me where I was already nearly ready for it.

I rubbed the heel of one foot against his back. "Hey, go for it, I'm good."

"I don't think--"

"John. Come on."

Marcone took a deep breath, steeling himself somehow. Then he pushed into me in one long, endless thrust. Even as loose as I was, it was a full, cleaving sensation that shook me out of my trance. My breath caught as he bottomed out, grip on the rim tightening. "Stars, John..."

John ducked his head as he drew out gradually and fucked back into me. It was rougher this time, with my muscles coming back alive. But it was a good hurt, chasing the pleasure and mixing into something big and overwhelming, something I couldn't fight back as it snuck up my spine tore through my lethargic head. I expected a quick, easy fuck. I couldn't handle this. My back arched, my face fell under the water.

John backed away, pulling me with him until I had to let go of the tub. He shifted one hand away from where it'd been squeezing and massaging my ass and instead pressed it flat against my spine, curling me up. I resurfaced. "Stay with me, Harry," he said when I could hear again.

"Can't, oh _fuck_ ," I gasped, grabbing his arms and holding on as he kept on. He didn't have the leverage to fuck me quickly, but the little thrusts were deep and made my blood pound. "Fuck, harder."

"I can't, wait." He pulled out of me and I tried to stop him, following him as he moved. He helped, keeping my legs locked around him as he floated to the opposite side of the pool. "That's it, come here," he urged as he settled into the seat and dragged me onto him. And then _onto_ him.

"Oh," I gasped softly. Somehow I ended up in his lap, impaled on him. I adjusted for a moment, resting my head on his shoulder. I felt hot, almost too hot. I wanted to climb out, sprawl over the cool ground, but I wanted _this_ more.

I seized his shoulders and drew up and down, riding him hard. John mouthed against my shoulder, biting and tasting my skin until I could feel the beginnings of a wide, red mark. I didn't care, just kept working myself against him, marveling at the one-eighty he'd edged out of me, driving me crazy in such a short time.

Short indeed. I came too fast, feeling my orgasm like a punch in the gut. I went lax again in his arms, slumping against him with a thready moan. I was so spent, so tired and relaxed, I could barely support myself. I felt John take my hips in hand again and worked me on his cock, just a few shallow thrusts before he came, somehow hot enough I felt it even though I was feverishly warm.

I did nothing to help out when John shifted me, positioned me so I was half laying in his arms. He stood, swayed under the strain of holding me once I left the water, but managed to get me out.

I flopped uselessly against the tile around the tub, just trying to catch my breath. "Nngh."

"Eloquent," John muttered. He climbed out as well, sitting on the edge of the tub next to my head. I expended just enough energy to turn onto my back, looking up at him. He was attractively pink and debauched hair spiked from the water and terribly askew.

I noticed the tub was silent, the jets stopped. I winced preemptively. "Did you shut that off?"

He arched an eyebrow at me. "No."

"Shit. Sorry."

John chuckled and put his hand in my hair, petting me affectionately. "Harry, I assure you, I do not mind."


End file.
